North (Destiel Fic)
by YoungAndAMenace
Summary: Ever since the accident, Castiel has had hallucinations. His husband, Dean, lives believing someday his true self will return. The mutters are maddening, and Dean fears he may never have his angel back. It's crazy what one book can do.
1. 1

He's always there. Every other Saturday a blond man with emerald green eyes and a leather jacket goes to the third floor of Crow Ink and looks. Not just a glance at the title and a skim of the summary. He watches. He feels. He checks the length of creases and page numbers. He opens to a random chapter and spoils a part just to make himself smile. It's never any different. Maybe a small change of picking a realistic book instead of fiction, but his green eye for detail never falters. Studied closely enough, 8 out of every 10 books he picks have wings on the cover of some form or another, even the smallest one's on the littlest background bee.

The young kids who do last minute homework at Crow Ink have speculations. Some say he is lonely, searching for a form of love only these books can offer. Others say he's wise beyond his years. That his youth does not express his ability to so deeply understand the world around him. Some claim he is related to the owner, and checks the books to make sure they are perfect for being sold. Not many believe that though. It's a too simple explanation for a far too interesting man.

Workers there used to try and speak with him, discover his story. Never more than 2 word sentences were uttered, and only as replies. He was always far away from the shop, even when his feet were planted in the worn carpet. His brain seemed to be much more extravagant than any small talk people could offer.

This day was absolutely no different, except to the person who changed it.

"Hey Cassie," Dean relaxed into the wood chair that sat across from his husband. Castiel didn't reply, just stared at his bed and pulled up the covers. His blank face held so much pain Dean couldn't bear to watch. Eyes that he once made wide when he kissed him for the first time were now wide from the monsters Dean couldn't see. There was such a deep fear that showed as he trembled with every breath, and each day Dean lost more and more hope for his angel.

Dean turned over the hardcover book in his hand, "Um, this one is a bit shorter than normal. It's about a horse during the settling of the wild west. I-I thought you might like it," as always he handed the book to Castiel, who brushed his hand over the cover and cocked his head. Dean was used to sitting for at least 3 minutes each time he got a new book. Even though he never read any part, Cas judged the quality on the texture of the cover, the amount of cotton in the pages, and whatever else rushed through his head. Dean simply leaned back and waited.

After being married for 5 years, Dean could see Cas' smallest movements. Especially since he became mute, the almost microscopic movements had significance. A quiet nod before Cas placed the book down. He didn't look at Dean, but he gave his approval when he handed it back, placed his hands on his lap, and waited.

Dean smiled before replying, "Let me get changed first and then we can read, okay?" A flicker as Castiel's eyes looked to him let Dean know he was all clear.

Dean went into the bathroom with his pajamas and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was messy, his eyes were dull, yet somehow there was a spark. He had looked dead ever since Cas' accident, but the hopefulness of his husband's return made each day worth it. He studied himself for a while longer, asking the same question he always did,

Why him? Why to such a thoughtful, sweet, beautiful person?

It always struck him hard that he never knew. These questions went unanswered, and somehow he knew they would remain that way. He sighed and changed, using steady movements as he thoughts raced. It was a blessing that Castiel liked the book he picked, as Crow Ink was low on the specific genre, the one he called 'Cas genre' on that Saturday. Cas was fascinated with anything from the animal kingdom, especially the more magical beasts. Dean only hoped the constant reading could make Cas happy for a while, and hallucinate only the joyful thoughts. It was a dream he knew was unlikely, but his very low knowledge on what really happened in Castiel's head could maybe make him right.

He exited the bathroom, placing his clothes in the laundry basket by the bed. Cas had a half smile as he stared at the cover, which had a beautifully drawn Kiger Mustang. It always warmed Dean's face when he saw Cas smile, and he knew this book would at least bring some bliss back.

Cas didn't look up at Dean as he slipped next to him, pulling the cover up. He made sure he wasn't touching Cas, as Cas panicked, even at Dean's touch. Dean carefully took the book from Cas' hand, making sure the movement wasn't too quick and suprising. Steadly, as to not move the bed, he turned on the lamp beside him and used the remote to turn off the lights. Cas always made sure Dean read every part of the book. Starting with title and author, Dean had to read the reviews and copyright, through dedications and forwards. Never did he care. It was just part of reading with his husband, and it was an activity he had come to love, as it meant life was normal; just as it should be.

Dean cleared his throat in a puurposefully exagerated manner. It always made Cas smile.

"The story I want to tell you,

can not be found in a book.

They say the history of the West was

written from the saddle of a horse.

But it's never been told

from the heart of one.

Not until now."

Displayed in a black and white water color image of a green hill, a mustanng, young and free stood. Castiel lightly touched the picture, tracing out each line. Another normal. Dean kept reading, "In this place that would come

to be called the ''Old West''

But to my kind, the land was ageless.

It had no beginning and no end.

No boundary between earth and sky.

Like the wind in the Buffalo grass.

We belong here.

We will always belong here."

At that line, Dean paused. He didn't know why it hit him, but it came like a rolling boulder of feelings. It took him some time to realize why. He looked to his side. Castiel was still tracing, this time making clicking noises as he started tracing new lines. His fingers were steady and determined. Dean knew he would love Cas no matter what, because even in these dark hours, he found joy in what he did. We will always belong here. No matter what happened, Dean knew they belonged together. He kept his marriage vows close to his heart. Nothing could make him stop loving Castiel.

He read the first three chapters that night. Cas clicking and tracing, sometimes rubbing his finger across the word Dean was reading. What was different though, was that Dean didn't think about the words on the clean page at all. Yes he read, but his brain didn't process the lines and dashes. That one line kept playing, over and over. And he kept seeing memories with his angel before the accident. He saw hikes and playgrounds, nerf fights and water balloons. It hurt more than he thought it would, but he held back tears for Castiel. Cas was interested in the book, and Dean wasn't about to ruin the moment.

When it became 9 o'clock and three chapters were behind them, Castiel turned over to sleep. They always kept the light on, just in case Cas woke up in the middle of the night, and couldn't see the ground. The darkness was one of the things he feared the most, and even Dean couldn't make him feel better. Dean couldn't do much anymore to help him, just read. Reading was good enough though, and as long as it made Cas happy, it made Dean happy.

Dean placed the book on the nightable beside him, stretching before turning over also. Slowly, as always, he placed his hand on Cas' arm. A flinch, before Cas relaxed. It was only when they slept that Cas would allow Dean to touch him. Dean suspected it was his fear of the dark. What hurt though was that he knew it didn't matter who it was, Cas just needed someone. Dean was insignificant. He was purely another blanket.

"Goodnight Castiel," Dean whispered into dark brown hair. He knew Cas wouldn't respond, but it felt weird to not say it. Heck, maybe one day he would answer.

That's what Dean's prayers always were. While he had little faith in a God, he needed to believe he had some control over all of this. That maybe he could change his husband's fate, even if it just meant reading to him every night and muttering prayers into the night. Something had to work. He couldn't keep this up for much longer.

He felt Castiel's head dip a bit, signaling Cas was asleep. Cas shifted closer to him, a move he did once his eyes were fully closed. It was like there was no fear when he slept in Dean's arms. Dean just held him, and like most nights, cried. Cried for the man who used to run to the corner store in the pouring rain just to get microwave popcorn. The boy who was his first friend, who would play imagination games where they were knights or rock stars. They would have sleepovers where they hugged each other during scary movies and then stayed tough during school. In some way, they had always known. Cas was meant to be with Dean and Dean with Cas. Neither denied the dozens of pictures of them together that covered their bedroom struggled when they weren't roomates, yet still called each other every night. Such a simple action such as speech never crossed Dean's mind then, but now he would give anything just to have Cas speak his name.

The memories didn't stop. Their first kiss at the playground in middleschool. The homophobic bullying they laughed their way through when the secret got out. Their card games at the library after school and chocolate mustaches.

What Dean wouldn't give just to kiss him again. To pull him close and softly touch his hair. Each day he was slowly forgetting what it was like to kiss. It hurt him so that each second made him lose hope.

He needed Cas back, more than he had ever needed something before. Maybe tomorrow would be the day.

That was what made life worth it.


	2. 2

Dean arrived home, and as Cas always saw him, he was...broken, defeated, dead. Even though he held a smile for Cas, Cas could see the pain. When he read him books every night his voice was rough and worn, like a car that had no fuel left. Nothing left to fight for. Cas wanted to be what was worth fighting for. Was he?

When Dean sat down, Castiel couldn't look at his face for more than a second before the utter terror took over again. It made no sense. Dean always made him feel safe, but he couldn't be touched, even by his own husband, without completely losing himself. Without breaking down in a mess of tears and flashbacks. He looked up though, really taking in Dean's face. That was the only way he would ever get better.

Dean handed Castiel the book before walking into the bathroom. As he shut the door, Cas heard a sigh, and his heart tightened. He studied the book, hands following the individual blades of grass the horse was standing on. Each had different shades of green that blended in diverse ways, so no two blades were even remotely the same. He realized it must be odd to be able to appreciate water color grass. It never occurred as the norm.

When some minutes passed, Dean walked out in stained shorts and a t-shirt. Cas continued to stare intently at the grass, a slight grin on his face as his eyes found their way to the Kiger Mustang atop it. The Mustang seemed so free, alert and daring. His face held determination, something Castiel wished he had. It seems as though since his accident, he just didn't have as much fight as he used to have. Maybe accident wasn't the best term for what had happened.

Dean crawled into bed next to him, making sure he didn't touch Cas. Cas appreciated the thought Dean put into every movement for him, and took comfort in the fact that Dean would wait forever if needed. All he could do was hope that this fear would someday go away. In all honesty, he wanted just to hug Dean again. He wanted to press his mouth to his and smell the layers of old spice that always clumped on Dean's neck. He wanted to hold his hand through the suburban streets as they walked to the park. He wanted to snuggle under a blanket and watch the stars on the hood of the impala and breathe. He wanted to be free again. He wanted to live again.

As Dean read, Cas zoned out, staring at the popcorn ceiling of their house. His ears still listened though. They heard Dean's rough voice and the flip of the pages. He heard when Dean cleared his throat and shifted a bit, or when he licked his finger to help grip the page. Dean was always so careful when flipping pages, making sure none of them rip or bend. He kept them in perfect condition, for his bookshelf. Dean had a bookshelf with every book he had ever read to Cas, starting with the first and going on. Dean said that when Cas got better, they could read them again together. It started with A Dog's Purpose, the book Dean had read when Cas thought his new life without voice wasn't worth it. While the story did give Castiel a bit of a push, Dean's commitment was what made him keep fighting.

Now, the book being read described the wild west, before men took it over with trains and coal. From the mustang's view, Cas could see mountains that breached the limits of the sky, and rock faces layered with the history that came long before. Endless seas of hills that had yet to be touched by oily human hands, that sheltered the hooves of the horses that now ran on them. He could taste the sweet wind that would bring with it smells of the blue rivers. Pollen of the flowers clung to berry bushes that sheltered rabbits that hid from the thundering hooves. They shook the earth with guns blazing, and Cas smiled. It was small, quick, but nonetheless there. He knew Dean didn't see, but the moment had passed already. Dean had to know though. Why else would he still be reading after all this time?

Reality returned when he heard the slap of pages on each other when the book was closed. Dean placed it beside him, grinning at the cover once more before turning back over.

Night was really settled in now. The darkness was creeping closer and closer. Dean's hand brushed Castiel's shoulder. He jumped a bit, before attempting to relax in Dean's grasp. There were two reasons he let Dean touch him at this time. Firstly, the dark was terrifying. His accident happened in the dark, so whenever he closed his eyes he saw it. He hoped Dean knew how special he was. Not just anyone could hold him at night. Secondly, he needed to try to get better. If he ever wanted to be himself again, he had to fight for his life back. If that meant letting his husband touch his arm, even when it was scarred, that's what he had to do.

When he was almost asleep, he felt arms hug him. Then, he heard tears. Dean's tears that he tried to fall asleep before every night. He hated hearing them. He hated knowing that those tears were for Cas. Sometimes, he heard the prayers Dean whispered while rocking Cas back and forth. Cas knew Dean wasn't religious, but people do crazy things for love.

He finally fell asleep, blocking out the sound of Dean's crying with his own thoughts. His own screams mixed with Dean's in the memories he couldn't stop. Movie tapes being played over and over until he slept from the pain of staying awake. Blood-curling laughter and fear that clawed its way up his throat. And, just like everynight, Castiel whispered into the dark,

Is it worth it?


	3. 3

"Cas, what are you doing up?" Castiel was sitting on the windowsill writing something as Dean stretched. Dean yawned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, scratching his head. One more yawn before he stood up, "Man my foot is asleep," he muttered, walking over to Cas. He leaned on the wall beside the window and looked over Cas' shoulder. A map of America rested in his hands, with a red sharpie line crossing over roads and cities. His thumb rested on the grand canyon, a small grin on his face.

"Whatcha got there, buddy?" Dean asked, hesitantly putting his hand on Cas' shoulder. Things had certaintly gotten better. Even though a tremor shook through him, he let Dean's hand remain there, even just for a few seconds. As suspected, Cas didn't answer, just kept staring at the map. Dean sighed, grabbing his clothes and heading for the bathroom.

When he stepped into the shower, he thought. He thought about the book they had read last night. He thought about the mustang and the wind. The west and men who drained it of color. Mostly though, he thought of Cas. Cas had seemed... different when they were reading it. His skin was hot, his mouth relaxed, and his normally fidgety hands just lightly twirled in his hair. The book, even just for a moment, made him be like Cas again.

 _"Dean, turn your alarm off. You are already 20 minutes late," Cas huffed and shook Dean._

 _Dean grumbled, "five more minutes," he rolled over and grabbed the pillow, pushing it against his face._

 _"No, now! You'll be late for work."_

Dean reached his hands into the air. Cas thought he was finally getting up, when strong Winchester hands grabbed him and pulled him into their queen-sized bed. Cas landed on the mattress, Dean pulling him to his chest and sighing. Dean happily puckered out his lips as Cas gave them a little peck.

"Fine," Cas whispered, "five more minutes."

A bang. Quick, ceasing as soon as it started. Dean didn't even turn off the water as he ran out of the shower, wrapping the towel around himself.

Cas was on the floor, shaking. His breathing was quick and jagged, eyes wide, facing the carpeted floor. He had wrapped himself in his trenchcoat and buried his head against his own chest. Dean crouched beside him, "shh, it's okay Castiel, I'm right here," he soothed, knowing not to get too close. It never made anything better, even if that touch was just pure love. Sadly, this was a normal thing in their house. Again, things had gotten better, they used to be worse. Up to ten times a day Dean would have to kneel by Cas and whisper until the memories went away. Now the most per day was five, but it didn't make it any less painful to see the man he love in such a pain that made him cry. He could see the memories Cas was stuck in, or at least the ones he was there for. Just the restless, muffled screaming. He shook it off though. He needed to help Cas. He did what he did every panic attack.

"You've got a lot on your mind

I guess that's why I shouldn't know

Where it is while we're here killing time

In time we'll know where we want it to go."

He saw Cas start to calm a bit. It was their wedding song. The song where Cas had pressed his head to Dean's chest and sighed, whispering I love you until his tongue went numb. It was the song where Dean had kissed him for a solid ten seconds and only breathed when he saw the smile across Cas' face. And, it was the song where Dean had given Cas his trench coat, so that even when Dean wasn't there, Cas had something to hug at night.

"I've got a lot left to say

I guess that's why I shouldn't talk

If everything I think got away

Afraid you'd think I've been thinking too much."

It wasn't the singers voice, but it was Dean's voice. It was pure and love filled, and held some tears, but it always made the walls open up again.

"Will you love me or leave me or maybe even see

Something to believe in between me and you

You say just close your eyes but I'm looking at you

Every time that I do

Don't say just close your eyes 'cause I'm looking at you

Every time, I do"

Tears still brimmed Cas' eyes, his face still red and ears still hot. He sniffled though, and listened.

"We've got a lot to believe in

I don't think that's too much to say

Last night you fell asleep to the TV on my shoulder

As my whole world changed."

Dean knew Cas was really listening when he smiled at that line. When he was young, Dean picked that as his wedding song, hoping someday that scenario would happen with him. He waited until the day after Cas fell asleep on his shoulder to the tv on propose. It was one of those cute couple stories told at parties and restaurants. Cas always loved it though; the cheesy romantic side of Dean. It always made him grin

"Will you love me or leave me or maybe even see

Something to believe in between me and you

You say just close your eyes but I'm looking at you

Every time that I do

Don't say just close your eyes 'cause I'm looking at you

Every time, I do."

Dean stopped there, hoping that was enough to calm Cas down. Cas though, shuddered and frowned. Dean had to finish.

"The first year flew by, the second one too

With a fraction of time, I know just what to do

With the rest, call our friends, and they'll make much ado

Here they are, waiting to walk down the room

You say

Will you love me and keep me through every season

Through sickness and health, with you?

I say, come close and close your eyes now I see you

Every time that I do

So I'll repeat the lines, shut my eyes lean into

Now and forever, I do

Don't say just close your eyes 'cause I'm looking at you

Every time, I do."

And, for the first time since the panic attacks started, Cas leaned back. Just slightly, just for a minute, but it happened. His back brushed Dean's chest, his eyes closed, and his breathing slowed.

Just as quickly as it happened, Cas jolted up and stared at the ground again, eyes once more fixated on nothing. Dean sighed, holding back the joyus scream he wanted to release into the world. Cas picked up the map again and traced the red line again. Dean sighed and stood up.

He changed into clothes in the bathroom and walked back out. Cas hadn't moved, just sat there, rocking back and forth to a beat only he could hear. At least he wasn't wailing anymore, which was something positive. His mind probably was though, louder than anything Dean could imagine. Dean checked his watch. He could still get to work on time. He hated leaving Cas like this, but they were barely making a living with Cas not having a job. Dean needed to work.

He didn't touch Cas, just sighed and waved, "see ya later, angel." With that, the door was closed, and Cas was left by himself.

When Dean walked outside, he breathed. He smelled the humid summer air and heard the repeating calls of birds. Their suburban house was small compared to the others, but Cas loved nature, so they had agreed to live there. Dean suspected that during the day Cas would take hikes through the woods behind their house. To be honest, he feared for Cas' safety, as he didn't know when he would just break down and fall. He couldn't do much about it though; if it made Cas happy, that's what he would do.

Dean's black '67 Chevy Impala was given to him by his father right before he passed away. It was difficult when his father left. The doctors say it was an accidental overdose on his anti- depressants, but Dean suspected more. Accidents don't happen accidentaly. Ever since their mother had died, their father, Jhon, hadn't been the same. He was mean and constantly drunk, always cursing out Dean and his brother Sam for things beyond their control. Dean felt good for Sam. Sam never really knew his mom, so the gut-wrenching heartache never changed him. In some ways though, many ways in fact, Sam's life after their mom's death was changed. Sam never really had the experience of a father, just a man who gave him a roof. It was Dean who bathed and clothed him. Who read him bedtime stories and slept beside him on stormy nights. It was also Dean who gave Sam halloween, Sam's favorite holiday.

 _"Dean all the kids in my class are dressing up for some holiday called Halloween. Can we dress up? Maybe dad will dress up too. We could be like some trio or something. Wouldn't that be cool, Dean?"_

 _Sam was rambling to Dean at the breakfast table. He always had something to say. Dean read through the news papers for any odd story. He liked writing stories elaborating on the strange occurences of everyday life, and what was stranger than real life?_

 _"Dean!" Sam yelled, "listen to me. I want to do Halloween."_

 _Dean put the paper down, keeping his finger on the page he was on, "Sam, dad won't want to do halloween with us. He has work to do."_

 _Sam shrugged, "that's okay. Maybe we could be someone from Star Wars, or monsters! What if we were monsters, Dean!? I call being a werewolf." Sam then howled and laughed._

 _Dean smiled, "Well, you know what's cooler than monsters?" Dean asked._

 _Sam awaited the answer with wide eyes._

 _"The people who hunt them."_

 _"People hunt monsters?"_

 _Dean grinned, "Hell yeah they do. Demons and ghosts and wendigos. All the stuff that goes bump in the night."_

 _Sam's face lit up, "I want to hunt monsters! Wow Halloween is awesome!" He looked at Dean, "My friends get theirs made already from these bags from the party store. Can we get ours from the party store?"_

 _Dean quietly sighed, his heart begining to hurt, "Sam, we don't have the money right now to buy that. The best costumes though, are the ones you make all by yourself."_

 _Sam frowned a bit, "You promise they're better?"_

 _"I swear on Def Leopard," Dean smirked as Sam jumped up._

 _"okay, okay," Dean laughed, "Let's go check out Dad's flannel."_

They had been hunters every year since, and every year was just as fun. Sometimes, it was just them giving each other candy, but nonetheless the holiday was always the highlight of their year.

Dean was driving now, the open suburb road winding up and down hills no one cared to flatten. Dean's brewery wasn't far from his house, but he kept the Impala at almost maximum speed. He would see Sam today, as he was visiting from his home in Kansas. Sam lived with his roommate Gabriel, who happened to be the brother of Castiel. It was something they all suspected was meant to be. While Sam currently identified as straight, Dean knew there was conflict within his brother, but there were bigger problems to worry about.

Winchester Brewery. A real original name. It was suprisingly popular among the community members though, and even the people with a solid family and a stable job came often. It had a hapiness to it, a trait Dean had felt when he first bought the property. He was a little late he realized, but his workers were already serving the very few people who were there. He saw some of the usuals, a tough yet stubborn man named Rufus, 'the hippy who was born in the wrong era', Ash, and of course, his super tall brother with the lush brown hair that must be stuffed with conditioner.

Dean jumped behind the counter, catching Sam by suprise, "Can I get you anything, my good sir?" Dean bowed his head. Sam laughed, "Hey Dean," Sam grabbed Dean's hand and hugged him over the wood counter, "just a homemade Winchester beer," Sam requested after sitting down.

"Nice choice."

Dean slid over to the fridge they restocked each morning. He grabbed the green labeled bottle, popped the lid open and handed it to Sam. Sam nodded and took a sip, "so hows Castiel?" he asked, placing the bottle down.

Dean sighed, "another panic attack this morning. Luckily though he seems to really enjoy the book I got him yesterday."

"Thats good,"Sam agreed.

"Hows Gabe?" Dean leaned on the counter.

"Well, hes Gabe. Out every night, comes back drunk at 2a.m. The usual."

"Yup", Dean laughed a bit, "some people dont change."

Sam's cheeriness dipped a bit, "It gets kind of lonely though. I guess I was always used to just you and me against the world, you know? Gabe's kind of closed off, which is fine, he's his own person, but I just wish we could talk a bit more," he paused, "sorry. You have bigger issues to worry about. But thats good to hear that Cas found a good book."

There was silence for a moment before Dean spoke, "Well, if you're really feeling lonely, the couch opens up to a bed in the living room."

Sam smiled, "I like being with Gabe though. I really want to get to know him better. How'd you meet Cas again?"

"Thats a story, Sam. You sure you want me to get into that?"

Sam looked around the brewery for a brief moment, "what else is there to do right now?"

Dean sighed, "Fine. Well it was the halloween you werent there-"

"You mean the one when I was sick?"

"Yes, I was still a hunter, just without my daring partner. He was dressed as an angel. Pretty much there was one piece of candy left at a house and we had a virtual battle for it. We both loved the others creativity with costumes and homemade props. Plus both of our childlike nature just made us feel close. We traded numbers that night after I invited him for a horror movie marathon at my house. The rest is history, Sammy."

"So you weren't roommates who never talked," Sam stated

"No."

It was an awkward silence, something the two brothers barely ever had.

"Dean," Dean heard his name from the other side of the bar. Ash waved, pointing at his empty shot glass. Dean gave him a thumbs up.

"Just wait a second, Sammy," he patted the counter and walked over, "How was it, Ash?"

Ash laughed, "Finest I've had, Winchester, as always."

Dean nodded with a smile. He filled the glass, placed the bottle back, and whisteled with his eyes closed back to where Sam was. When he got there though, $5 sat on the table with a note on a napkin.

Sorry. Just needed to think. At the Dalphin Hotel a few miles away. Room 1408.

Dean sighed. His brother really needed someone. He needed someone who would care for him. He wanted to always be there for Sam, to help him figure out who he was and how to live a good life, but the physical safety of his husband was much more of a threat than Sam's jumbled sexuality. He had a small idea, but it would have to wait.

The day dragged on with people coming in and out, buying six-packs or bottles or just a small shot. As always though, he left before the night rush started. His workers could handle it, and they understood that he needed to be there for Cas. So when 8:00 struck, he began heading home.

The nighttime drive back was always his favorite part. There was just something so hauntingly beautiful about a lonely suburban road, and it gave him time to think. Tonight, his mind raced back to the mustang, and suddenly, he couldn't wait to get home and read.


	4. 4

When Dean read to him that night, Cas was smiling, more than he intended to. It happened to be the book came with some cd's that they listened to when the time was right. The book gave quick hints as to when to turn on each song. The music added a whole new layer to the depth of it, making Cas tremble when each chord hit. As if the book didn't have enough emotion already, this music solidified his love. What amazed him though, was that Dean kept reading. Cas tried not to notice the tears in Dean's eyes or the way his hand sat open, ready for Castiel to just place him palm down. He kept reading. Through the headache he must have been experiencing from scrunching his face so much and blurriness of his eyes, he never faltered in his steady, strong beat.

When he wasn't looking, Cas stared up at Dean. He stared at the slightly curved mouth that just barely held itself above a frown and pale pink lips. He stared at the short light hair and slightly scarred face that he had kissed so long ago. What he really saw though, was the eyes. The greenest eyes to ever be were so cloudy. They were fogbanks and Cas could not see the wonderful city that was Dean's mind. Dark bags hung under the red that encircled the green, only ever changing when he blinked.

I did this.

Yet those sunken eyes never faltered, and they just kept following marks around the paper, turning the ink marks into words. He turned them into ideas and images; grass smells and the highest apples from trees. He made it real. It felt amazing that it was real, but the most exhilarating part was that Dean was real. This fanfiction perfect man who always had a joke up his sleeve, fries in hand, and a heart of pure gold was his. His husband, no one else's. Cas smiled. My Dean. That's when he did the unexpected.

He snaked his arm between Dean's, rested his head on Dean's shoulder, and closed his eyes. He felt Dean shift a bit, stopping and putting his finger on the word he was on. If Cas was paying attention, he would have seen Dean just stare down at him in his gray shorts and Philadelphia t-shirt. His Cas. The Cas that had said 'I do' five times with glee before their sealed kiss. It was the Cas he knew would never do anything to hurt him.

"Like my father before me

I became leader of the Cimarron herd.

And with that honour

Came responsibility."

Dean didn't read much farther as Castiel was already lightly snoring on his shoulder.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day.

"So, Castiel, has your week been good?" Dr. Collins looked up at him, pen in hand. As expected, Cas didn't answer.

Dr. Collins nodded after a few moments, "Well, today I'd like you to just do some painting for me," Dr. Collins layed on the table a paper with some brushes and a set of the three primary colors plus black, "You and Dean read together, yes?"

Cas did actually nod this time.

"Good. Does that make you feel better."

Cas nodded again.

"Okay, very good. Anything that makes you happy makes me happy. So, what I want you to do is paint your book. It can be how it makes you feel, your favorite part, or even Dean reading it to you. Does that sound good?"

Cas replied by picking up the brush, picking the blue, and splashing it on the sheet. Dr. Collins nodded before looking at Dean, "and how would you say Castiel's week has been, ?"

Dean smiled, "I'd say pretty well. I can see he's really been trying to face his fear," Dean blushed, "uh last night he fell asleep on my shoulder while we were reading. That's a first since the.."

"You can say it, Mr. Winchester. You must also face it. I know this therapy is for him but I know you must recover too. Say it."

Dean sighed, "Since the trafficking." Dean saw a tremble go through Cas' body but he continued painting.

"Well I'm glad Cas is doing his homework. Don't worry, he will get better," stared at Dean with a very serious face, "He's strong, Mr. Winchester. I have no doubt he will fight through this."

Dean nodded, "Thank you, Dr. Collins. I really hope you're right."

When they got home, Dean hung the painting over their bed. It was Cas riding the Mustang known as Spirit, with Dean reading the book on the grass beside him. Dr. Collins had said that the book was obvously helping, and that both were doing well to try to recover.

Dean noticed something on Cas' side of the bed. The same map with the red line. This time though, it had the names of different landmarks or buildings along it. Trails, national parks, museums, or even just a quick sketch of a mountain or canyon. At the dot where the line started, their home, a small drawing of Dean's Impala sat, smoke coming from the back. He also realized that along the line, drawings of Spirit running, following the line were shown. Then he saw it. The line ended where the book took place.

"Cas?" Dean turned to the dark-haired man who was currently just standing and staring at the floor. Cas looked up.

"Is this a... road trip for us?"

It was crazy that Dean was even getting a response from Cas. What was even crazier though, was the excited nod Cas gave that complemented the smile on his face.

"You love the book that much?"

Cas stopped, sighing.

Dean stood up and walked over to him, "Ths looks awesome, angel. I would love to go on a roadtrip with you. Are you sure you're ready though?"

Cas stared at him with determination.

"Ready as you'll ever be, huh?" A small smirk sat on Dean's face, "This is why I married you, you know? My Castiel never gives up. We'll start planning tomorrow, okay?"

Cas seemed shocked at how quick Dean was to agree. He never thought his ideas since the incident had much value. He wanted Dean to know this is why he married him, for the adventurous brain the Winchester had.

Just like that, the Dean and Castiel Winchester Roadtrip was born, and nothing would ever be the same again.


	5. 5

Dean handed Cas his phone with the aux cord attached, "This is a one-time deal. You better pick something good."

The road trip was officially ready. Bags were packed, the snacks piled in the front, and the GPS was ready to lead them down the roads. Dr. Collins hadn't been thrilled when the idea was proposed to him, but Dean and Castiel agreed to continue doing the work he had given them. Who knew? Maybe the trip would make Cas better.

"Well, as a child I mostly spoke inside my head

I had conversations with the clouds, the dogs, the dead

And they thought my broken, that my tongue was coated lead

But I just couldn't make my words make sense to them

If you only listen with your ears I can't get in."

Dean nodded. The Mute, one of Cas' favorites. Cas would always mouth the words, the closest he would ever get to speaking. It told his story though; part of it. The lyrics always seemed to strike him, one especially.

"So, then one afternoon I dressed myself alone

I packed my pillowcase with everything I owned  
And in my head I said "goodbye, " then I was gone  
And I set out on the heels of the unknown  
So my folks could have a new life of their own  
 **And then maybe I could find someone**  
 **Who could hear the only words that I'd known"**

Dean wished every time he heard that lyric that he was the one. He wanted to be the one who could hear Cas' words, although it had become apparent he wouldn't know for a very long time. Maybe, just maybe though, Cas' voice was being heard.

By the time the song ended they were already on the open road, heading north from their home. The Impala's emission sound finally felt like freedom, a feeling Cas hadn't had since before his accident.

"Cassie, put on some Queen for me, will you?" Dean hit his hand on the steering wheel and pushed the gas pedal down further. Cas could feel himself being pressed against the back of the seat. He hated when Dean drove this fast. Cas grabbed Dean's arm and closed his eyes. He felt the car ease, now slower.

"Sorry, angel."

Cas put his hand back down and breathed.

"Ooh you make me live  
Whatever this world can give to me  
It's you you're all I see  
Ooh you make me live now honey  
Ooh you make me live."

Dean looked over at Cas with a smile, "this is my song for you, baby. You know that, don't you?"

Cas blushed and nodded, fiddling with his fingers as the song continued.

"Ooh you're the best friend that I ever had  
I've been with you such a long time  
You're my sunshine and I want you to know  
That my feelings are true  
I really love you  
Oh you're my best friend."

Dean drummed on the steering wheel, occasionally looking over at Cas and singing the lyrics to him. He pointed to him and sang with his deep, pure voice, "Oh, you're my best friend."

It was really like a movie moment. The open road, the blasting melancholy song, and the two lovers who would never be apart.

Cas was sleeping when nighttime set in. They would reach their hotel by 2 am. Dean was fueled right now by red bull, coffee, and some leftover mountain dew he found in the glove compartment of the Impala. It was 10 o'clock, and Cas was sleeping better than Dean had seen in a very long time. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling every 6 seconds or so. His head leaned against the door of the car and his knees were pushed up to his chest. Gentle snores escaped him, and a neutral frown sat on his face. Dean would glance over every now and then, making sure his angel was still sleeping soundly. The man deserved it.

Street lights. We ignore them in the day yet they become so powerful at night. They make quick lines of color that dart away as soon as they came. They shine. They tear through the blanket of stars and give just a glimpse of the world. Street lights. Street lights made the drive seem calmer. It was really a movie.

Dean had turned off the radio a while ago, giving him time to think. It was the first time in a while Cas had been responsive like that. He answered all questions, laughed, and even held Dean's hand. It was so interesting. What had changed?

By 1 the road was empty, and the roar of the impala was the only sound for miles. Dean could only see a few yards ahead of him in this dark, so he kept his eyes open for weary deer wandering these roads. Cas grunted in his seat beside him, turning over and digging his hands farther into his trechcoat pockets. Dean looked over and smiled at his husband, sighing and facing ahead again.

At 2:03 am, they reached a small inn on the side of the highway. The building seemed nice; made of new bricks and shiny white doors. Dean got out and grabbed their suitcases and duffel bags, throwing some over his shoulder. He opened the passenger door, slightly shaking Cas awake, "come on, angel. We're here."

Cas groaned sleepily, standing up and almost collapsing into Dean's arms. He crossed his arms and pulled his trench coat closer, following Dean inside.

"Hi. One queen sized bed please," Dean leaned his elbow on the counter as the woman upfront typed at her computer.

"You're partner seems pretty tired," she smiled a bit, "make sure he gets some sleep."

Dean grunted, "I wish he could just get 1 good night." The woman didn't respond, just handed them a key, "down the hall to the right and then left."

Dean nodded and turned, "Come on, Cas."

He realized then that Cas was in one of his 'zones.' His eyes were fixated on the old carpet, his hands by his sides, and his breathing raggedy and withered.

"Dammit," Dean muttered. It could be up to 20 minutes before Cas broke from this, and that was just if they were lucky.

Cas then began to hum. It was off tune and had no beat, there just to fill his ears with something other than screaming. Dean breathed and his face warmed up. The people in the lobby were staring now, and Cas showed no sign of breaking soon. The woman at the counter looked questioningly at them.

Dean sighed, "I'm sorry he gets like this sometimes."

Then he did what he had to. He had began to work on fitness right after Cas' accident, just for times like this. He picked Cas up bridle style, held the bags between his arms, and walked to the room. People stared. Oh, people stared. They stared when Cas suddenly started gasping in Dean's arms, both simultaneously pulling him close and pushing him away. They stared when he began to sing to the man in his arms, and the yelling stopped. And they stared when Dean carried him all the way to their room, singing a love song to the person that was now almost asleep on his chest.

That night as they layed side by side, Cas snoring quietly and Dean wide awake, it occured to him he had never told Sammy. He stood up, tucking the blankets over Castiel and walked to the bathroom. Closing the door, he pulled out his phone.

Ringing. Ringing until the last second.

"Hello?"

"Hey Sam."

"What's up, Dean?"

"Look, I sort of just left you behind. Cas wanted to go on a road trip and... I said yes. I'm sorry man."

Dean heard a sigh from the other side, "No it's fine. I kind of left too..." There was something in his voice. There was something... off.

"Sam, what happened?"

"Well uh, remember my middleschool girlfriend, Jess?"

"Yeah. What about her?"

"She died yesterday. House Fire."

"Oh my god Sammy I'm so sorry. Does Gabriel know?"

"Um, yeah. I told him and then he just told me to wait and he left. I don't know with him anymore, but I left to attend the funeral."

"Sam I can meet you over there if you want. Castiel will understand. I know how much she meant to you."

Sam sighed sadly, "Yeah. You don't have to come though. This is time for you and Castiel. I can deal."

"Are you sure?"

"We've been through a bunch, Dean. This is just another obstacle."

"Hm. Well, text me when Gabe gets back, I'm curious to know what he's up to. If you need anything, just call me, okay?"

"Yeah, Dean," And just then, his voice sounded like it did when they were little. The innocence and happiness that Sammy always had. It was there again.

"Good. Get some sleep, Sammy."

"You too."

"Goodnight, Moose."

"Goodnight, Squirrel."

Dean hung up and put his head against the wall, _Couldn't Sam just get one moment of peace?_

After a while he walked back to the bed and crawled in beside Cas. Cas was in fetal position now, his trenchcoat wrapped tightly over his body. Dean carefully put his left hand on Cas' chest, pulled him closer with the other hand, buried his face in the crook of Cas' neck, and prayed.

"Hey," he whispered, "If there's anyone up there, the joke's over. Give me my damn husband back," then his voice broke, "give me Castiel back. I can't do this without him."


	6. 6

"Here Cas, I got you a waffle. Extra syrup, just how you like it," Dean placed the plate down in front of Cas, sitting down across from him and taking a sip of coffee. Cas didn't nod, just picked up his fork and knife and began eating. Dean placed his drink down, taking a breath, "Did you sleep well, Cassie?"

As usual Cas didn't answer. Dean didn't expect him to, it was just routine. Maybe one day he would answer, just not today.

"So I was thinking," Dean continued. While he knew Cas wouldn't answer, Castiel always heard him. He knew what was going on, so Dean treated him just like he used to, "We didn't get to read Spirit last night. Maybe you want me to read it while you eat?"

Castiel paused, just for a second, but it was enough to let Dean know, _yes._ Dean pulled the book from his backpack underneath his chair. He put it out on the table. Cas inspected. He always liked having a reminder of the picture and feel before Dean would read again. When he was finished, Cas pushed the book back over to Dean.

The Inn dining room was getting more crowded now, and Cas was frequently getting distracted by the people walking around him.

"My heart galloped through

the sky that night

Back to my herd.

Where I belonged.

And I wonder if they missed me

As much as I miss them."

Dean sighed, _I wonder if they missed me as much as I missed them._ As always, he related it back to Cas. He missed Cas. While it's been written and re-written over and over, you really don't know what you have until it's gone. Did Cas miss being with Dean? Did he remember what it used to be like? Did he care?

But he kept going.

Now the mustang was stuck in two worlds, deciding between friends and family. The stakes were rising, even though it was early on in the book. At times Dean realized how joyously he was reading, adding voices and movements. He was so enveloped in it, he missed Cas' wide smile the entire time.

"Excuse me, sir," Dean was jolted from the book by a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see a young woman looking at him, "Could you please quiet down? Others are here too."

Dean nodded, "Yes. I'm sorry."

She smiled, "And maybe read something a little more grown-up for your friend here."

Anger then crossed Dean's face, "Why don't you leave me to read to my husband. I've known him for eight years, so I think I know what I'm doing."

"Husband?" The woman scoffed. She breathed deeply, "ugh, I can't believe they let you two in." With that, she left them. _Stupid homophobes_

Cas' eyes were down now, a sad look shadowed on his face. Dean could see the tears threatening to spill, and he fell in love with Cas all over again. Cas bit his lip and scratched his neck, looking around for the woman again in fear. Dean lightly touched his leg to Cas', attempting to soothe his anxious nerves. Castiel breathed as Dean did so, though his shoulders still slumped. Dean gulped, _stupid homophobes._

 _"_ Come on, Cas. We should be leaving soon anyway," Dean glared around for any sign of the woman before standing up. He pushed the chair out, grabbing his backpack and book and walking around to Castiel. Castiel didn't look at Dean, just stood up and followed him back to their room.

Dean fell back on to the bed, "Ugh, I hate people," then he smirked, "That's why I'm into angels."

Cas didn't look at him, just sat down a few inches away. Dean bowed his head, "Angels are a whole new level," he glanced over to see if Castiel was listening. He was met with blue eyes looking down, yet ready for him to continue, "for one, they're like super smart. I swear they know everything about people and animals and the world. Even in their eyes you can see it." Dean heard a breath; Cas trying to calm himself. "They're really smart, but they're so humble too. Sometimes, they don't know that they're smart, which is crazy, but they are. SUPERLY AMAZINGLY SMART." There was a small grin on Cas' face now and a slight blush. Dean sighed and continued, "Angels are also very pretty, beautiful even. I don't know how people look at them without fainting."

Dean looked up at the celing, "I have the best angel though," he nodded to himself, "yes I do."

After a few moments, he looked beside him. Cas was still staring at the ground, his dark hair a contrast to his still troubled azure eyes. He was fidgeting with his hands, his leg unconciously bouncing. This was fear.

Then, Dean's voice. He was reading. The world melted away.

"Cas?!" Lights. Blinding, penetrating lights. Dean.

"Castiel! Oh my chuck he's awake. I need a doctor!" White. A white room with a white floor and white walls, a splash of color on the tv. The color though, came from Dean's voice. His voice was green and blue, calm and welcoming.

"Hey Cas," The bed sunk a bit where Dean sat down, now peering at him, "how are you feeling, buddy?"

What happened Dean, what happened? Am I dying? Did that lady do it? Dean! Dean! What's wrong? Stop crying. Please stop crying.

Then, Dean tried a hug.

Castiel didn't even hear himself scream, but it must have been loud because 3 doctors came in before it stopped. Just a pause though for air. He didn't know where he was anymore, just that that touch was right on his arm, where he had been grabbed and pushed brutally into a car. Arms wrapped around him, arms that had caused the black and blue marks and scars. But no, Dean hadn't done it. Dean just wanted Cas to be happy, so why did the panic overtake him every single time?

The pain, it was too much. He just needed to sleep. Cas just wanted to sleep.

"We'll see how he does after three months. To be honest, Mr. Winchester, I don't know if he'll ever be the person you knew again," Cas could practically smell Dean's tears. They were salty and powerful, and grasped on to the air like their life depended on it.

"Doctor, I can't afford these bills. I'll be in debt the rest of my life," Dean pleaded.

"If you want him to have any chance of recovery, this is what must be done."

Castiel heard a sigh, "will I at least get to see him?"

"Saturdays are visiting days for the program."

Cas couldn't see, but he knew Dean had nodded with his head down. He knew Dean so well.

Cas breathed deeply, letting the sterile, bleachy air fill his lungs. The doctor turned, "Oh, he's awake."

Then, Dean was beside him, "Oh my chuck Cas I thought I'd lost you," He didn't hug him though, although Cas could see Dean wanted to just grab him and never let go. He could see the pain in Dean's face, but Cas couldn't stand anyone near him, not even Dean. Dean looked up and made a face at the doctor. Now, it was just him and Dean.

"Castiel..," Dean's voice was dry and empty, "We... I'm sending you to a hospital. I need you to get better, Cas," Dean ran his hand nervously through his hair, "I can't get through this life without you."

 _A hospital. With bells and whistles and schedules. Gowns and doctors 24/7. A hospital. Dean wanted him in a hospital._

Another scream, this one less violent, yet still painfully gut wrenching. He couldn't, wouldn't survive in a hospital. No fresh air or freedom. Bad food and boring days. He could live with that though. The worst part was, _No Dean._ No midnight reading and Spinal Tap. No cloud of cologne when he just entered the room, or stargazing on the Impala. No Dean.

He _neede_ d Dean.

"Cas, you passed out in the hotel room. Y-your breathing, it was barely there," Cas could hear the tears that now clogged his throat, "Cas I was so scared. Don't ever do that again, you hear?"

 _HELL YEAH!_ Cas wanted to scream. He had had flashbacks so vivid and repetitive, though, he almost hoped he could have died just to stay sane. It had broken him, and now Dean, sweet little Dean, needed to fix him. He couldn't think about it now, so Cas did what Cas did best. He slept.

Dean just watched as Cas slowly drifted to sleep. He watched when Cas reached for a trechcoat that wasn't there, hide his head beneath the blanket, and finally, sleep. He watched when Castiel's heart monitor slowed a bit, and when Cas struggled to sleep with the IV in. And he ached. He ached when he couldn't lay down beside his husband and kiss him and pull his head against his chest. When he couldn't run his fingers in Cas' dark messy hair, and couldn't stare into those shimmering snowy eyes.

"You're gonna be okay, bud. You've made it this far..." his chest hurt when he spoke, "So don't you give up on me. I'm not ever giving up, so you can't either. Deal?"

And he could have sworn, the heart monitor beeped it's cold reply.


	7. 7

"Cas... It will be fine, I promise, angel. I'll be here every Saturday from dawn until dusk. You just gotta keep fighting."

Check in was a pain. Medication records and family history. It hurt every moment when Dean looked over at Castiel. The agony burned brightly on his face, like each wrinkle next to his eyes was just another memory he couldn't erase.

"Mr. Winchester?" Dean whipped his head to the front desk. Castiel was distracting.

"Sorry, what else do we need?"

"If you would like, you can have phone call with the patient 2 nights a week. Would you like that?"

A small spark struck Dean's eye, "Of course!"

"You did say he can't speak though, right?"

"Won't speak," Dean said in a slightly angered tone, "he's capable of whatever he wants."

The woman just nodded coldly, "Well here is his room number. Please help Casti..."

"Castiel," Dean said assertively, "like the angel."

"Castiel. Please help Castiel settle in."

"Will do."

Dean was lining up many of Castiel's favorite books on the small shelf beside his bed. _A Dog's Purpose_ , obviously, followed by some other Castiel classics such as _The Luster of Lost Things,_ and _Icarus at the Edge of Time._ Not all of the many books they had read were there, only the ones that really mattered. Maybe they were read during a particularly hard moment, or an old copy Dean read when he was little. Mostly though, they just needed to take both reader and listener somewhere other than their current world. It didn't have to be crazy, just not feel like life today.

Cas' room was, well... a hospital room. It was mostly white, had a painting of flowers, and a small TV in the corner that was barely visible. So yeah, a hospital room.

Cas hadn't moved from his spot in the doorway. The room seemed to completely scare him lifeless, understandably so. There was nothing comfortable about it. It was devoid of anything that made it.. his, It wasn't his, but for these next weeks it would be. Dean knew it would feel odd; sleeping in a room without 'Castiel Pazaz.' So life goes.

When they had settled, Dean turned toward Cas, "We have to go pick up your schedule and meet some of the other patients," Dean tried to grin for Cas, but neither was really buying it.

The hallway was just like the room, which made their walk uneventful. Cas was just staring at his feet the whole time, watching how they crossed over the tile floors. Dean realized Cas was wearing the shirt he had gotten him, the one with the feathers and the wings. It brought a quick smile, adding some spray of color to the grey around them.

They found the lobby they had been guided to, a room with fake leather sofas, a Tv, summer magazines, and people. About ten people maybe, possibly a little less. Dean guided Castiel to an empty seat. Cas sat down and Dean sat on the floor in front of him. Both looked around.

Many people there had a person with them. It was difficult to tell if they were partners, parents, or friend. On the surface it seemed equally divided between male and female, yet there were some people Cas couldn't tell. Maybe they wanted it that way.

Then, a girl walked over. She had cherry red hair, a Star Trek shirt, red converse, and just about twenty other fandom related items.

"Hey," she greeted with the Spock wave, "I really like your trench coat."

Cas didn't look at her, just kept his eyes on the floor, although Dean knew he had heard.

"Sorry, he doesn't really talk. He says thank you though," Dean smiled up at her.

"That's fine, I like quiet people. They're always so much smarter than anyone else."

Dean nodded.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" she asked, gesturing to the empty floor beside him.

"Be my guest."

She sat, taking a D20 out of her pocket and fidgeting with it in her hands, "My name is Charlie," she smiled.

"Dean," Dean responded, "And this is Castiel," Cas twitched just a bit at the sound of his name.

"Like the angel Cassiel?"

Dean shrugged with a grin, "yeah I guess. He fell in love with humanity after all," Dean cocked his head happily at Cas, "and humanity fell in love with him."

"I assume you two are married?" she questioned.

"Yeah, 5 years now," Dean answered.

"That must be nice. I'm still looking for that perfect girl."

Dean slightly nodded, "You'll find her. Cas walked in to my life without warning, and I'm sure your dream girl will come when you need her."

Charlie shrugged and sighed, "Well, I don't know about you Castiel," laughed Charlie, "But i do not want to be here at all."

Cas actually looked up and acknowledged her.

"Nice eyes," Charlie commented, "both of you."

"Well thank you," Dean giggled, "But I thought you liked girls?"

"Listen, I don't have to be attracted to you to know when someone is nice looking. You two are very nice looking men."

"Fair point," Dean agreed, reclining against the leg of Cas' chair, "and any girl with a brain would fall for you."

"Not yet it seems, but she's gotta be good. A complete and proud nerd."

"You'll find her, Charlie, I know it."

Charlie stood up and sat on the arm of Cas' chair, "Well Castiel, I think we'll be good friends."

"See, Cas?" Dean smiled, "You already have a friend. You'll be fine, Feather."

 _Feather._ It was a name Dean barely ever used, but when he did, he knew it made Cas feel okay. He would use it more often, but then it would lose its meaning.

"Attention please," a young doctor surveyed the room, "I'm going to take roll to make sure everyone is here. You will receive your schedule, have about half an hour more with you family or friends, and then we will begin programs."

As usual, Winchester was last on the list, which Dean knew Cas hated. No reason, he just did. Charlie was towards the beginning, her last name being Bradbury. She walked over with the schedule in hand, resumed her relaxing on the arm of the chair, and started reading, "There's like 20 things in here with the word 'group' in them. Ugh," she stopped before quickly spewing something out, "Except for you, Castiel. I like you."

Cas just sighed, grabbing the cuff of his coat and shaking his head.

"Winchester, Castiel."

Dean stood up for Cas, ready to walk over. Then, suddenly, there was a dark haired boy with ice blue eyes and an old trench coat beside him. Dean smiled. Cas always like when people called him Winchester. Even though it had been his legal name for five years, he always responded happily to it, as if he were the most proud person in the world to be a Winchester. Who knew? Maybe he was.

Cas took the paper from the doctor and then quickly handed it over to Dean, ducking his head. They walked back to their seat as the group of people around them began to speak again. Joining Charlie, Dean started to read the schedule out loud to Cas, "Well, today after I leave you have an introduction where you learn about the programs and meet everyone else here. That seems chill, right?"

It obviously was not chill, as Cas' eyes grew wide with fear when he heard the 'meeting everyone else.' Cas hated having to introduce himself, as he couldn't. Dean always did it for him, but now he wouldn't be able to.

As if reading his mind, Charlie volunteered, "I can introduce you Cas... if you want of course."

Dean made a half smile and nodded his gratitude at Charlie. He turned towards Castiel, "What do you think, angel?"

Cas clicked three times, the sound he made when he imitated the Kiger Mustang running. It was a sound that meant pure pleasure to him. _Yes._

"He says yes," Dean responded to Charlie, "thank you for offering."

"Yo, Cas and I are buds now, right pal?" Charlie nudged Castiel with her elbow. Cas jumped and for a moment stopped breathing, biting his lip and gripping his coat.

Dean jumped into action, starting to sing their song.

"You've got a lot on your mind..."

And he sang until the first chorus, when Castiel finally relaxed again.

"Just don't touch him, okay?" Dean asked Charlie.

"Of course. But wow you just fixed that as soon as it started."

"Well," Dean sighed, "you live and learn."

"I guess you do," Charlie agreed.

So they read through the schedule, which included meal times and therapies, free times and when they could get free ice cream. To the very last detail on one sheet of paper. And then, a voice.

"Dean," Dean turned to see a 6'4, long haired man with 3 layers of plaid. Sammy. Beside him, a golden haired boy with a smirk on his face and a lollipop in his mouth. Oh god, Gabe.

Sam and Dean hugged each other with their signature brothers hug. When they broke apart, Dean looked Sam right in the eyes, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better," Sam shook his head with a sarcastic smile, "but I'm holding up, Dean."

Then Dean brought his voice down a bit, "How about you and Gabe?"

"Still figuring that one out. He had to see his little brother before the hospital though and I wanted to support you, so here we are."

Dean smirked, "Well it's great to have you here, Sammy."

Sam nodded as they both walked over to where Castiel was. Gabe was on the floor in front of the chair, speaking softly to his younger brother. His golden hair was knotty and torn in parts, with some strands just sticking to the oils that hadn't been cleaned off. Gabe always prided himself in keeping clean. What happened?

With further inspection, Dean realized Sam didn't look too good either. His clothes were dirty, his limbs heavy, and his normally intelligent eyes now wailed in their tiredness. Despite this though, Sam had on a delicate smile as he sat beside Gabe and began conversing with him and Castiel. To anyone else, Sam looked normal. It was the almost motherly love Dean had towards Sam that made him realize the way his jaw was unusually tight, or how his chest didn't expand much when he took a breath. It was these small things that Dean caught, things Sam himself sometimes didn't even realize.

So it happened that Gabriel gave to Cas a pair of black cosplay angel wings so that his Halloween this year could be extra special. These wings could flap when he pulled a string on them. They were also made of real feathers, something Gabriel knew would make Castiel smile. Cas loved the animals. That's why when getting the feathers he had to make sure they were found and were cruelty free and all the stuff Cas cared about. To be clear, Cas didn't actually open them. It was more Gabe slowly taking out the carefully placed wrapping paper, making sure Cas saw every part as if he were opening it. No one expected him to move, and he didn't. He just sat, and stared. Yeah maybe these wings would go to waste and they would sit on a shelf until termites ate through the wooden frame, but at least, hopefully, Cas knew they still cared.

So the Winchesters and the Novaks (and Charlie, who beared the last name of Bradbury), talked. Not to each other, but to Cas. Gabe and Sam tossed around stories of how sloppy or noisy or smelly the other one was, Charlie gave a rerun of some of the weirdest things she had found in her hacking career, and every once in a while Dean would speak.

"Remember when..." was usually the first phrase, followed by a quick story. Maybe one of their first dates, or that one song on the radio during that car ride. Heck, it might have even been about the fly he rescued from the shower before it died 10 minutes later. Whatever it was, everyone listened. They listened more than they listened to the other stories, because one of these had a chance. Maybe the name of that one song would trigger a memory. Maybe the way Dean said a word would make him say a word. When there is little hope to go around, every portion becomes stronger.

Most of all though, the silence was for Dean. While he was re-telling stories for Cas and saying his name and staring at him, everyone knew these stories were for Dean. They were for Dean to remember, for Dean to forget, and for Dean to have a will to keep fighting. At times like these, even the largest fire can burn out in an instant, and even the smallest spark can burn through the forest.

Then, it was time.

No one hugged Castiel for fear of making it worse, but they huddled. Cas' family huddled around him and smiled, wished him good fortune and courage. In times like these, what else could you ask for?

Through tears Gabe said the prayer he and Cas used to recite every night before bed,

"If we get nothing else in this life,

Give us the eyes that can see the splendor we have before us."

Sam's quick "you stay safe.." didn't seem like much, but to be honest, he hadn't really seen Cas since before the accident. He was scared some random word could send Castiel into a depressed and fearful spiral. So, he only said three.

Charlie gave a "see ya later" before going to her room, no family or friends to say goodbye to.

Dean. Dean shook his head and sobbed, "i'm sorry I'm sorry," as if words could change the glowing blandness of the building Cas would have to be in for two months. His voice gave no color, just gray and blue, but the blue only made it worse. Dean was ugly when he cried. Not physically, just his voice and his hunched back and shaking; it was horrible. But this time he shook three times as hard, he was hunched so much he almost fell over, and the words could barely even be called words, just blue and gray noises.

"Angel, angel, angel," over and over, eyes darting across Cas' face, looking for any sign of comprehension. Maybe, he wouldn't have to go here.

"Soft little feather, oh my sweet little bee," Dean wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, because those words would not be the same now. Now they would be grief words. But what could this love story be called, besides grief?

5 years and in some way Dean wished they had never met, then this goodbye wouldn't be so hard.

Saturday, every weekend, they were too spread out it was too long without seeing Cas. Would Cas remember their book?

An empty house that would smell of old trench coat and laundry detergent, now would only be breathed by him. He would, for once in 5 years, be truly alone.

Sam dragged Dean away, arm tight across Dean's chest, tears brimming his eyes for the pain his brother was enduring. Dean struggled and kicked, yelled and cried, but with every second Cas was getting farther.

Cas didn't fight, didn't even blink, but his toes did wiggle. His hands still reached for a hand that wasn't there. His soft clicking not met be a wandering ear. His vision wasn't good today, but the second there was no longer a happy presence beside him, he knew his world had left.

Dean. Dean. Dean.

He didn't scream when the doctors guided him to his room, but the clicks were desperate enough.


	8. 8

Cafeteria food is gross. No matter where you are, school or prison, a hospital or maybe a government building, cafeteria food is always the opposite of appetizing. It may sometimes look moderately good, until you take a bite and you realize it's fresh from the freezer. No matter where you go, cafeteria food is never really food. The cafeteria at the Hospital of the Angel Michael, or H.O.A.M, was no different. Luckily, it's very difficult to ruin pasta.

On his 5th day at H.O.A.M, (pronounced 'home') Castiel sat with Charlie for lunch, as he had done every meal. Really, Charlie sat with him. His first day he sat at a table, ready to sit alone, and then BOOM, a nerdy redhead was there. At first, Cas didn't didn't really care if she was there, but eventually she became actually kind of nice. Of course he didn't say this, he never said anything, but he hoped in some way she knew he was thankful for her company.

Charlie was much quieter during their hospital activities. Her normally energetic and quirky self dulled whenever they were told what to do by the hospital staff. It wasn't just Charlie though. The place was its own form of gloomy. No matter how many fish murals and fountains and encouragement posters were on the wall, nothing could change the grey mood of the place. Honestly, Cas didn't really expect them to. A hospital is meant to be devoid of anything happy, it's just how it was meant to be.

This lunch of cold pasta with a stale breadstick and peas was one of the better meals they had had so far. Others included soggy turkey sandwiches, fake fish sticks, and the absolute worst in all cafeterias, pizza. The pizza was completely disgusting in every way. Cas could handle though, pizza wasn't his thing, but when someone ruined PB&J, Cas couldn't stand it. PB&J was his favorite food, as it was what he and Dean ate the night they met. It reminded him of squealing during the horror movies they watched, or how LOADED with peanut butter their sandwiches had been. Dean almost used half the jar just on their 2 dinners. So yeah, lots of peanut butter with a little bit of jelly and white bread brought back memories. Good, blue and green memories.

Castiel took a bite of the pasta, fixing his eyes on a patch on his trench coat. It was stained with chocolate ice cream, from that time when they were cuddling and Dean's half eaten bowl had spilled. Good. Good blue green memories.

He looked up, glancing around and watching the people in the cafeteria. Charlie was consulting a therapist about medication today, so Cas was left on his own, which was fine. Charlie was great. She was funny and kind and super extra in a good way, but for some reason he felt like she was making him replace Dean. As if Dean was watching around every corner, feeling his heart break into pieces whenever anyone spoke to Castiel. He couldn't bare it, thinking of Dean hurting more. He hurt so much now. Every word he spoke was laced with the hugs he could not give, and Cas knew this. It was his fault. He was to scared to let Dean close, and now the person he cared about most was suffering.

Cas turned his head around, watching the people at the tables behind him. He was alone at his table, but he had no problem just watching. A lot can be learned from people who don't know you're listening. He saw at the table 2 tables behind him,Chuck, Michael, and Fergus. Fergus and Michael were both in for the same reason, their self-destructive and angry nature. Both had a tough childhood of neglect, although neither cared to go in to anymore detail than that. It was customary to ask everyone you met why they were there because maybe then you'd be able to bond. You'd be able to bond over a pain that neither could understand. Chuck was in for a suicide attempt after his parents kicked him out. Being bisexual just wasn't accepted in his house, and now with no home he only saw one option. Cas was glad he had survived, he seemed like a nice guy. He was quiet, but very caring nonetheless. He sat with Michael and Fergus because he didn't make any noise, and the two didn't really care who sat with them.

No one knew what happened to Cas. No one really asked either. They could just kind of... tell. He had a mood, a deep blue radiating off the said loud and clear,

 _Don't_

And they didn't, not even Charlie, who liked knowing everything about Cas. Apparently a PB&J obsessed book worm with PTSD was very interesting.

Cas' ears twitched as he heard chairs move behind him. The trio had gotten up, thrown out their lunches, and were heading for the common room. It was group meeting time, and everyone actually kind of enjoyed it. They got so see everybody that wasn't in their sessions or other personalized events. During the group meetings, doctors would talk about possible new activities, events, and take suggestions about what the patients wanted more of. They all assumed the doctors couldn't care less about what they wanted, but gave the illusion that they did. For some, it did work though. Fergus and Michael would laugh whenever someone actually put thought into one of the ideas; it wasn't going to happen. No, we're not getting Call of Duty for the Xbox.

The common room was an average size, with a wide flat screen TV hanging in front of two old, green couches. Between those two couches sat a small wooden table with a magazine holder resting in it. There were magazines concerning sports, Tv entertainment, and those weight loss ones with the photoshoped models on the covers. To the right of the Tv there was a smaller Tv with an xbox 360 under it and 4 controllers. The walls were ugly beige and a bookshelf sat in one of the corners. Cas sat on the ground where he could fidget with the carpet as other patients started filing in.

"Everyone, please settle down.." Dr. Shane said, clearing her throat as she waited for the noise to die down, "We have nothing especially new today, just a few schedule changes and some packages for some of you." Dr. Shane smiled, "Firstly, lunch will be a half-hour later from now on, just to let you all sleep more."

There were some groans and some cheers. Castiel wasn't listening, he just had found a very interesting string that laced throughout the carpet, and was intrigued by how it twisted and burrowed between his fingers. And then, the string reminded him of how his hand used to be intertwined with Dean's, and suddenly a string was a knife, slicing through his soul. He began to shake, yet it was so ghostly no one even turned or twitched their ears.

Dean

Dean

Dean

Dean

 _I want to speak to Dean_. _Let me speak to Dean._

Like all times he asked for such a blessing, his mouth seemed to laugh to itself and smirk.

 _Let me speak._

Met with only the same shrewd response, Castiel tugged the string right from the ground, and stopped his rushing mind by simply collapsing.

Dean paced around his home. It was the 5th day without Cas in the house, and each day the lavender smell of Castiel's all natural cologne started to fade. He couldn't smell it anymore. The floors seemed to creak more than usual, but he was probably only noticing it more. Without Cas always shifting in his seat or walking around aimlessly, every sound was... louder. Of course, 2 years ago the house was filled with their laughter and Cas' dad jokes. Their house was filled with quick kisses and chip wrappers littered around the house, and maybe, just maybe butterfly kisses, but those were very special.

Dean sat on the white leather couch. He placed his palm where Cas' hand should be and shook his head, "Baby, come back."

It was scary how much he remembered just from touching that one spot on the couch. How many stains they struggled to wash off, just for Cas to push Dean away and sit on it.

 _"If you can't see it than it's not there,"_

he would say, smiling at Dean. Dean would smile with him, and they would forget about it until it would be a sin to get it off. It was a recollection now of their love. The humor side of it, filled with making each other feel complete happiness, even just for those few seconds. Cas pushing Dean's face away with the sleeve of his coat, sitting on the stain, and simply saying, "If you can't see it than it's not there."

He couldn't see Cas right now, and Cas wasn't there.

That night, Dean pulled the blanket over him. Beside him was one of Cas' old sweatshirts with birds on it. It still smelled like him, so Dean had been using it as a stuffed animal to reassure himself when he slept those first few days. The side of the blanket beside him got colder with each passing day, the mattress getting firmer, and the pillow hardening. The world, Dean's world, was adapting to life without Castiel, and he hated it.

"He's not gone," Dean muttered, "He's not gone," but it had been two years, and now a new threat slowly began to pour down;

Dean was beginning to lose himself. He was losing hope, losing confidence, losing everything. Who was he without Castiel? Who was he without his angel? Who was he without his happiness?


	9. 9

Good morning, Castiel,

It's Dean. I know, no one writes letters anymore. What year am I living in? What I also know, is that you love getting letters. I wrote it on this cool paper I found that kind of looks like an old map. I can't wait to see you Saturday. The calls don't start for 2 weeks, so I thought a letter would make up for it.

You wouldn't believe it. There was the cutest dog that I saw when I passed by the pet store yesterday. Maybe when you get home we can get a pet. I heard guinea pigs are good too. Also, the corner store dropped their price of ramen by 5 cents. I'll get you some.

I hope you are feeling okay. Charlie seemed really nice. Maybe you could share some of your writing with her. My favorite is that one about the boy and the wolf.

I hope your trench coat is keeping you warm. Hospitals can be pretty cold. I can't believe you still have that thing, and that it still looks decent. There's a car show in a few weeks. I'm going to bring the impala. Maybe I can find someone who loves her as much as you and I do. I miss talking cars with you, Cas.

The wings Gabriel gave you were nice, but you'll always be an angel, wings or not. Speaking of Gabe, I think he and Sam might be getting closer. Maybe now that both of their brothers are total wrecks they'll be able to bond over something. Who knows though? We all know stuff can get pretty weird when you put together a Novak and a Winchester.

Well, that's it for this letter. There will be more, I promise.

Have a great day,

Dean.

The book light made some words darker as the paper bent, and he was afraid the delicate page would disintegrate in his hands. He could almost feel the oils from his skin cracking through the it, so he slightly released his grip. The handwriting was so… Dean. It was sloppy and had odd capitals in random places where there shouldn't have been, but it were the quirks that made it beautiful.

He read the letter over and over, trying desperately to escape the darkening room he was in right now. With each moment the light of the moon rose higher and higher, eventually too high to brighten his window. The shadows slunk closer every second, eventually consuming everything except where the book light's glow touched.

The letter was so familiar, so horribly addicting. He was almost getting high off of longing. The yearn for home and his own bed and books and computer and Dean. How could it have only been five days here? He barely needed deodorant anymore because the bleach scent clung so easily to him. It wasn't possible, more than 7 more weeks here. How?

How? How? How?

Then, he looked out the window of his room. He could just jump out. Set off an alarm or two. Maybe doctors would run in, or walk. He didn't feel like they cared very much about him. It wouldn't matter though, by the time they would get there, he would already be gone.

 _Not tonight._

Tonight, he thought, something would happen. He knew it. It hurt how vague it was, but something was going to happen. Good or bad, he couldn't quite tell. He couldn't die in suspense, so he waited.

He read _Icarus at the Edge of Time_. He read it slowly and studied all the pictures of the supernova's and planets, making up names for the shades of pinks and blues. Stuff like _Blueberry Core_ and _Duskfall._ Perfect. It told of a boy who flew his spaceship so close to a black hole, time got messed up, and in what was one short hour for him, millions of years had passed for his family back on the main ship. Cas was waiting for what felt like a million years for this _thing_ to happen, just like Icarus' family had waited for him.

And then, there was a _creak._

It was subtle, unnoticeable to someone who wasn't waiting.

A paper slipped beneath the door, white and haunting in the dark room. Castiel stood up and grabbed it, turning on the book light he had carried over with him. It was a list of all the patients in the hospital. One name though, was circled. In red marker one name stood out from the rest, grabbing Castiel's heart and ripping it up into shreds.

Patient number 21:

Amara Shurley.

And in the dark, Castiel fell to his knees, paper flying slowly from his trembling hands. His trenchcoat crumpled beneath him. His eyes closed steadily, breathing shuddering.

Amara Shurley. His Aunt. She was here. Right now. With him.

No.

This couldn't be happening. She was the reason he was here. He should be recovering, without her behind his back. He needed to tell someone. Everyone here was in danger, especially him.

Charlie. Charlie would know what to do.


	10. 10

Gabriel glanced up at Sam, whiskey eyes sad and angry, "Out of all places, why a mental hospital? That's like the worst. It'll stress him out so much."

Sam shook his head, "The doctors agreed with Dean that it's what's best for him."

Gabriel slammed his fist on the table, "HOW WOULD THEY KNOW!? I- I- I… He's- He's…." Gabriel swallowed tears, " He's my brother. I raised him…. Now… he doesn't have me." He shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers nervously on the table.

Sam took a moment before responding to his room mate, "It's been so long though, since the accident, and nothing's changed. I think we need to try everything we can until we get Castiel back."

Gabe's eyes had zoned out, and were now staring at the green table they were sitting at in the Eat and Greet dinner. He still spoke though, "It's not the right way. It's not going to work, Sam. It'll kill him."

"You don't know that."

Gabe glared at him again, "You think I don't know my own BROTHER!?" Gabe stood up and slapped his hands down on the table.

Sam rivaled his pose, yet his tone was softer, "I know you know him, Gabe. I know Dean better than anyone, but that doesn't change the fact that we're running out of options," Sam sat down again, Gabe following, "We have to try everything. You've seen Dean, he can't get through the day with Cas just sitting and praying for a miracle."

"This isn't about Dean, Sam," Gabriel sighed and tilted his head toward the ceiling, his body still shaking slightly from yelling, " I just wish this never happened."

Sam took a moment before answering, "Well as a wise man once said, 'So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

It was a comfortable silence for a bit after that, as it seemed Gabriel was pondering Sam's words. However, he still answered with the most Gabriel response, "Tolkien Nerd."

Sam nodded a bit with a grin.

At least Gabe was smiling

"Nevermind him," the nurse calmly said to the other patients, "he doesn't speak." Everyone around her just nodded, some staring at Castiel with pity, others humor, and some were too dark to tell. He had missed the question, and was much more involved in how many stitches were in his coat. It was a topic that took a lot of mathematical thinking, something far more interesting than the 'happy places' of the other patients.

Like usual, the group skipped him, an occurrence that had become so normal now, sometimes even he forgot that he existed. Word on the street of H.A.O.M was that he had an abusive gay husband, but he kept him for the the money. Of course the snickers and rumours had to be about money, wasn't everything these days? You can't love someone just to love. Of course there was the whole gay thing, but that's a whole different issue. What Cas was primarily worried about today though was Amara, obviously. Luckily she wasn't in this group right now, and in just 10 minutes he would get to see Dean, but it was utterly terrifying. Any moment she could be watching, waiting to attack him, abuse him, or kill him. Worse though, she could attack other people. Innocent people just trying to recover. He wouldn't even put it past her to bomb the place. Those who can kill a soul can kill a body too.

It was almost time to see Dean now, so Castiel closed his eyes and just waited. There was nothing left to do but wait.

Dean groggily picked up the ringing phone. A young man with a cheery voice was on the other end, "Hello, is this Castiel Winchester?"

"Who is this?" Dean asked slightly alarmed.

"We are just doing a study on the minds of people who have been human trafficked. If you'd like to sign up-"

Dean hung up. Out of everything why did he have to bring up that? Today was happy, he was seeing Cas. Dean forced a smile. Today was happy, happy because of Cas.

Dean parked, making sure he had the cookies he had baked for Cas. They were Cas' favorite, snickerdoodle. Dean made sure they had extra cinnamon, enough where Cas could race Dean in a water chugging competition after. Cas always called himself the fastest water chugger in the world, and Dean let him have is imaginary fame.

The building loomed as Dean walked in, checking off the name 'Winchester.' It still made his stomach flutter when he realized Winchester was Cas' last name too. Some things were just too magical to ever truly believe.

He clicked the pen a few times more than necessary before placing it back down on the desk. When he turned around, he saw the room was just as it was a week ago, now slowly filling in with doctors and patients.

Blue sweatshirt

Denim button down

White t-shirt

Red t-shirt

Purple Windbreaker

 _Trenchcoat._

Cas looked tired. Much more tired than Dean had ever seen him. Even when he worked the night shift, he never looked as mentally thin as this. His trenchcoat did not have any more stains, although the old ones looked more pronounced and noticeable, as if Cas were trying to remember where they came from. Dean had almost no doubt when he believed Cas knew every stain. He used to recite them while they ate, pointing and giggling, filling the air with" _remember"_ s. It was scary to think that he might not remember, as Dean always said Cas would be his memory when he grew old. Who would be there to remember?

Castiel didn't notice Dean at first, his eyes locked on the same chair he had sat in a week ago. The layers of leather and plaid must have caught his attention though, because out of nowhere his head shot up. Caribbean irides met Dean's, and for a brief moment, he saw his husband again. It was joy in Cas' eyes. _Joy._

If it was 3 years ago, Dean would have sprinted up and pulled Cas to his chest, smiling in the crook of his neck and grasping the coat. For right now, he waited for Cas to approach him. The steps were quicker than Dean would have expected, but with enough dragging to make it seem like forever. Maybe it was.

Eventually, the two lovers were standing face to face. Dean's eyes pleading to Cas' shocked yet dull ones. Dean could almost smell the fear and utter silence that trembled through Castiel, yet so many words threatened to spill from his ears. Some truths are meant to be hidden. The moment was elongated by the stillness of everyone watching. They were both hanging by their fingernails on a cliff made of fears not supposed to be spoken.

But then

Amara.

She wore her most beautiful black dress, the one with the birds made of lace. Her hair looked almost as 'product filled' as Sam's. She wore a smile, yet it was the kind of smile that gave you that gut feeling of _something isn't right._ A lot of things were not right about Amara.

Amara clasped her hands together in joy, "Dean, my how it's been a long time," her exclamation was almost painfully fake, but she hugged Dean tightly before he could respond. Amara had always been fond of Dean. Even if they were on paper related, she didn't give it much thought. It almost sickened the Winchester sometimes, when her hand got a bit too close to his chest, or her language crossed the line of family and friends. Even though Dean was bisexual, many who knew him knew he could only love a woman in a very rare case, and Amara was certainly not one of those cases. However, before Dean and Castiel were together, she had tried to be in a relationship with him, even at one point threatening him if he didn't kiss her. Despite that, Dean never pressed charges, and she still loved him the same, although Dean's eyes always darted around the room when he was with her.

Amara held on much longer than needed. Dean struggled to lift his head above her shoulder, looking for Cas. Cas was now staring at him, whole body fixated on him. He almost seemed to be slightly trembling, especially when Amara kept shifting closer and closer to Dean.

Realizing Cas' concern, and wanting to breathe himself, Dean pushed Amara off of him, although made sure it wasn't suspicious and still seemed friendly. Amara stared, rage (but not a hint of confusion) in her eyes, before she walked off into the rest of the crowd.

Both men were finally able to breathe once the tension she brought faded. Although Dean had no idea that Amara was Cas' culprit, he suspected something had happened between the two of them. It was the way that they looked at each other, or really, the lack of it. How they moved when the other was near. Something wasn't right. _This is Cas time now,_ Dean found himself reminding, _Castiel._

Dean steadily lifted his hand up, watching Cas' eyes. They were not any smaller now. Dean was okay. Closer to his husband's face, Dean's hand soon cuped Castiel's cheek. For a moment, he flinched, but soon Dean felt the full force of Cas' head resting on Dean's hand. His skin was rough with small hairs and pores, but it was the greatest thing Dean had ever felt. It was smooth, almost like an elvis song. _I can dig Elvis,_ Dean chuckled to himself.

"Hiya, Cas," Dean whispered, his lips struggling to part, "how's your week been?"

Almost as if responding, Cas brought his hand to Dean's shoulder, now leaning almost half of himself on his husband. The week had been tough.

"Oh, I know. It's been hard, Cas. It's been hard without you at home. I forgot how loud the creaks are when you wake up at 2 am for a sandwich," and magically, Dean's chuckle was met by a small smile from his best friend. It barely made a dent in his cheeks, but the unmistakable white tooth were present for a moment, and that was good enough, "I hope you like my letter. I'm sorry it was so sappy," Dean told his husband, "If you want there can be more." Cas sighed heavily, the silent words ever so present in that breath, _I would like that._

Breaking the moment, a doctor at the front of the room spoke, "Excuse me, everyone. We will now start family updates. Please stay with whoever is a client here until it is your turn."

Sound erupted again, voices and laughter and the sound of moving fabric. Dean looked over at Cas, "I want a good report card, Winchester. Anything less than an A and you won't get lunch for a week."

Wow, it sure was great to see Cas smile.


	11. 11

"We got a hostile!"

'Bring him there this way."

"Well, what do we have here?"

"We caught him by the supply wagon, Sir."

"Ah, a Dakota. Not as tall as the Cheyenne,  
and fine featured as the Crow. Take him away gentlemen, show him our best."

"Corporal, take him to the stock case."

'Not the stock case. The post.  
No food or water."

'What are you looking at boy?"

He was called Little Creek.  
And he seemed different from the rest.  
There were just no end to the  
strange ways of the two legged.

Dean, as always, read emotionally. Each character had their own voice, although they were all deep and crinkly in a way. Dean's way. The way that made Cas imagine them all with his face, which made a voiceless giggle bubble in the back of his throat. At times of speech the men seemed much nicer than their words hinted at, although it was on Dean's joy that lead to that conclusion.

A few others now gathered, the scene before them a hint of spark in the darker room they now waited helplessly in. Dean's hands sometimes flew into the air, his chuckles shattering everyone's fear in a new type of exhilaration. Cas' head was tilted slightly, his eyes almost glued to the pictureless pages in Dean's rough hands. Colors splashed about across faces, smiles and laughter, the yellow, the pink of the soul.

A new character entered, a native. It was soon obvious that this person would be a greater part of the story, one because they detailed him much more than the others, with things such as physical and the deeper parts he was feeling, and two, because Dean hinted. Dean had a habit of never keeping his mouth shut with his theories. One could not get through a page without 'he's probably going to die,' 'They're toooootally into each other' or some variation of those things many think but don't say.

 _Cas was crying, solid, thick tears welled and spilled over. His trenchcoat sleeve was dampened from wiping his eyes so many times over. "She'll get through it…" he mumbled to himself, sniffing and grabbing another tissue from his nightstand._

 _Dean nodded slowly, "No she won't! Come on Cas, get a hold of yourself!" He turned to Castiel, almost mocking him with a smirk._

" _Damn it, Dean!" Cas cried, pushing away his husband's face and burying his head into his knees, "always ruining it," he shook his head, small gasps escaping from his throat._

 _A strong arm wrapped around his neck and knees, Dean's head now resting on his shoulder, "well if I ALWAYS ruin it…. Why am I still beside you in bed right now, hm?" he smirked, and while Cas couldn't see it, he heard it. Dean had a way of making audible smirks, those that used more of the sarcasm way of speech than the normal tone he held, but that wasn't much different._

" _Oh, don't do that, Dean," Cas' anger faded with this joke and he slowly sunk into Dean's chest, "you know I love you."_

 _Dean laughed quietly, hugging him tighter, "it's just nice to hear it."_

A pang feels like it sounds, like the gap in one's throat slowly shrinking in size until the blue takes over the system. This pang of longing for what had once been hung for much longer than either of them wanted.

"Winchester!" The crowd looked up with Dean, a hint of sadness in all of them now. The doctor waited expectantly, eyeing the book and Dean with slight mockery. A grown man reading a book for teenagers, what a sight!

As Dean stood, everyone started to go back to their seats, light whispers quickly growing to loud chatter that would soon create the white noise of the bland room. They all seemed to ignore what had just happened, they too feeling foolish for enjoying such a thing. Charlie, who still sat kindly beside Castiel, smiled up at him as he left, "go get 'em." Cas' gaze held question, a slight head tilt only adding to such. Did she remembered that morning? At least as much as he knew he would?

Following the doctor, Cas felt much more sure-footed than the first time. Obviously, that wasn't much of a surprise as he now walked these halls tens of time everyday. So many more weeks of that were still ahead. How many steps would he take here?

The room they sat in had a water cooler by the door with cups shaped like cones stacked upside down on top. There was a circular table in the middle, a counter and cabinets to the right, and an unreasonable large window that was covered on the other side by bushes. Castiel took a seat at one end of the table, Dean beside him and the doctor across. Dean glanced quickly at the gap between them, _At least 5 inches._ And it was.

"I have to say, Cas has been a pretty cooperative patient, Mr. Winchester. No big issues have shown up, although within the past 36 hours he has been a bit more skittish than we've seen in the previous week"

Dean nodded, clasping his hands together softly and sighing, "how many panic attacks?"

"About one per day Mr. Winchester. We always find him humming or clicking his tongue."

Dean almost glazed over the sentence , picking at the skin on his fingernail, but that one word stopped him dead, "humming!?"

The doctor nodded, placing down his clipboard "always the same song, and always in the same way. He seems to be almost hugging himself and rocking."

While he had asked the question, the doctor's words were muffled by the joy that rung through Dean's ears, "What does this mean? Will he speak soon?"

The doctor held back a scoff, "huh, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Vocals are a big step, but this only means the others will be bigger. He must stay until the end of the program."

Dean rolled his eyes, "I know."

"With how you are speaking it seems you would like to leave Castiel to leave as soon as possible. I can assure you, this is the best place he can be right now."

Cas had counted 28 freckles on Dean's face at this point, each one slightly different than the other. Dean said they were all battle scars, put there to show he had won all the fights he had been through. Cas said every time Dean was truly happy, a freckle would appear on his face, and every summer as they ran through their backyard, the sun would remind him of all the great times he had, even in the darkness, light can still be found. Yet Sam claimed they were kisses from angels for every time he had been the father Sam needed, In their youth, Dean was blessed with the heart of a soldier, a mother, a father, a guardian, and the warrior Sam needed. Dean always shied away from these theories, blushing and smiling, mumbling, "Stop joking around," but all three of them knew, these stories were those he needed sometimes.

Dean turned towards Cas who was still staring at his face. His lips were slightly parted, yet the sides still stayed stuck to each other. Cas' eyes held betrayal, for he too knew that he would have to stay. Yet, to hear Dean confirm, tore through the little hope he had of leaving these white, white walls. He closed his eyes, swallowing tears, letting his head go limp against his chest.

Dean's breath, so suddenly caught between his mouth and his lungs, could do nothing for some time. He just stared at the angel breaking in front of him. He could almost see the wings falling against Cas' back, black and torn, worn to the very last feather.

"I'll give you two some time," the doctor responded to this silence, not hinting at any one emotion in his voice or walk. Not until the last knock of a footstep and close of a door had ceased did either move.

"Cas, Cas, Cas, my guardian angel, my feather, I'm so sorry." Tears welled in both their eyes, Cas now curled in a ball on the seat. Dean bit the side of his mouth, he couldn't cry, not in front of Castiel.

Dean moved quickly, a sudden sense of courage enveloping him. He grabbed Cas, hugging him in the most loving way he could. He didn't know how, or why, but he knew Cas would not scream, nor kick, nor be afraid. It was some form of magic that told him this, but it was a miracle that made Cas grab him back. Now they were each grasping each other's arms, tears of joy and sadness blending into memories of laughter and freedom. Dean pressed his head to Cas' , the moment sweeping him up in the thrill of hugging his husband, "Cas, you will make it through this. You will get better, and I swear on everything I've ever loved, I will be here for you until the end, so I need you to just keep fighting."

And maybe it was those words, or the gift he was about to give him, of the love that pulsed from one to the other that changed the hospital that day, but all could agree, things were about to be better.


	12. 12

Gabriel hadn't been back in three days now. Two days used to be his record; the time he'd taken a bus for twelve hours in the wrong direction while drunk, but Sam suspected this wasn't like that.

The hints were the smaller things Sam only noticed because he had been living with Gabe for two years, things even such thoughtful people like Cas would glance over. The fact that his gaming phone sat on his bed, groaning that it was at fifteen-percent charge and decreasing faster and faster; Gabriel _never_ left his gaming phone behind, and it was _always_ charged. Maybe it was that the gold chain that held the wing necklace Cas gave him was left behind. He never wore it on a silver chain. He hadn't even taken one of his lollipops with him for the road. Something was very wrong.

Sam's car was Dean's old one. Dean had named it KITT after the car from the show _Knight Rider_ he'd loved as a kid. It was the same brand and color and all things about it were perfect. He loved KITT. It had all the lights and sounds and all the buttons he had no idea were even there, so it confused both the Novak's and the Winchester's when Dean chose Baby. Baby was everything KITT wasn't. She was normal, clean, shiny. She didn't have bells and whistles and flashing lights and a screen on the inside, but Dean drove his father's car with more pride than he ever could have with KITT.

KITT had been given to Sam even before he could drive, fourteen years old to be exact. Dean had been driving the thing since before he was legally allowed to, but their father couldn't care less about that, so Dean didn't either.

Now, as KITT raced down the empty road through the pine barrens of New Jersey, Sam's mind was racing, racing faster than the very car he drove. Where could Gabe be? Was he safe? Was he alive? Questions, questions, questions. One thing was certain: _this was about Cas._ It had to be. Why else would he leave so soon and with such little care?

The first three bars Sam checked were empty; only two or three people each as it was only mid-day. They were the only three bars Gabe ever went to, as each had their own special drink he loved. Fruity at two, bitter at the the third. None, though, held Sam's best friend.

To be honest, Sam didn't really believe he would be there. Firstly, he had left his car, which meant he would have had to walk all the way, maybe two or three hours, minimum. Secondly, the thing he wasn't so sure about, was that the bars didn't mean enough to leave the gold chain and gaming phone and cherry flavored bubble gum-filled lollipop. Lately though, Gabe had changed drastically. He began to drift from his habits, forming ones that made Sam worried and scared for the man. However, there didn't seem to be much that could be done.

 _It was the heat of the moment!_

Sam's ringtone suddenly blared through the car, causing him to jump. He re-adjusted the car into the lane, calming himself before glancing down at the phone.

The contact I.D couldn't be right. Why would Gabriel leave and then call suddenly? Sam answered carefully, pulling the car over to give his full attention to the conversation.

"Sammy. I'm thirty minutes in on the eastern trail. Someone is trying to sabotage my brother. Come quickly." The message itself was urgent. Gabe was audibly choking on his own tears, using much of his strength to keep the diminishing act up.

The eastern trail was one of the many hiking trails through the pine barrens. The woods surrounded their house and much of New Jersey. Known greatly for their slightly unpleasurable smell, the trees in the pine barrens tended to create their own paths that people soon conquered. The eastern trail was just one of many that twisted its way into the lives of people who lived around it.

"Gabriel, don't you dare hang up this phone! I'm on my way."

So off he went, now the second confused, scared, and lost Winchester to be chasing after a Novak.

Cas held the small gift box, his eyes strangely dry as Dean's hands fell away from his own. The wrapping paper was coated in tiny pink and yellow stripes. It was bent in places, obviously folded quickly and not by a very steady hand.

Dean sighed, glancing down at his watch. Tick Tick Tick, a mockery of endless seconds. How many more of those seconds would he see? How much would the world change in those short 31,622,400 seconds?

"That's-" Dean started, guiding the small box towards Cas' chest "that's for you. Open it when… when life doesn't seem like it could get any worse," Dean grinned warily at him, "When you need to be reminded that I love you to Saturn and back, open it, and remember. Can you do that for me?"

Cas' small smile was the purest thing in the universe; so yellow and pink like the wrapping paper, green and blue like the sea. Small, cool lips slightly molded. They were thin and fragile, and grasped this happiness weakly, but the faded pink lines told much.

Dean exhaled, nodding his head and yawning to stop from tearing up, "I'll see you next week, okay?"

And in some crazy, crazy way, Cas' heart didn't sink as much… and neither did Dean's. It was comfortable. This small little gift was a piece of Dean that Cas could now hold on to, and Cas' smile would warm Dean's sleep for many weeks to come. Each held on to that silence for much more than that moment though, dangling their fingers in the ghosts of their memoir.

Time did freeze for a moment, as if the whole hospital just stared at the two young men intertwined so deeply in each other's questions. Cas' smile illuminating all with joy, and Dean's teary smirk reminding the wounded to laugh. Across two paths rang out true the single ding of a triangle, leaving that painful ring in ears much longer than necessary.

 _Dang it Castiel,_ Dean could only shake his head in shock, _you always take my breath away._

Sam was used to jumping the fence to the eastern trail. The lock on the gate had rusted many years ago as no one really ever cared to open it. No one really needed to either: very few walked this trail. It wasn't filled with wild blueberries like the creek trail, didn't oddly smell like apple pie, like the hill route. It was really just a rocky, muddy trail.

Sam began his quest through the dirt by running, but soon found that twisting his ankle was an unpleasant experience. The rest was his odd mix of a run-jog-walk, like when you're crossing the street and the cars are waiting and you don't want to run but don't want to hold them up by walking. The blackjack oaks and red cedars did not know or care how Sam traveled through their paths.

When Sam was about twenty minutes into the eastern trail, shrubs and young bushes were replaced by stone carvings. Statues of brightly scaled fish and quick-to-buzz dragonflies now lined the footpath, eyeing Sam. They started out small, at first only about the size of his foot. Small critters like rabbits and rats, but they soon grew. They grew to be octopi and servals, silver-lined tigers and faded out demons. People with horns or wings or spiked lizard tails. And Sam, never having really gone too far into the eastern trail, could only stare in awe at the sculptures before him.

Like one streak of lighting in a rainy, midnight sky, Gabriel's golden hair shone out through the pines. He was slumped on the ground, head down and elbows dirty and bloody. Before him, a large figure of an angel. Not one with a harp and small wings, but one with a blade held high, eyes staring lovingly down at Gabe. Its wings were molting and rattled, yet they hung nicely with the cloak that enveloped its mighty form.

Sam approached cautiously, attempting to make his voice known to the shaken boy in front of him, "Gabriel?"

"Sammy?" Gabe's voice was painless in its speech, smooth at first, but hiccuped towards the end. He swallowed, at first eyeing the ground in front of him but soon turning his head. He lifted up a bit, using only enough willpower. He was now facing Sam, still sitting, yet a bit more lively than before, "Sam."

Sam looked down at him, smiled slightly, and then walked nervously over. Gabe seemed to be trying to smile, a glint of hope tugging at his lips, but the sheer force of the situation before him forced it to collapse in on itself soon after.

Gabe eyed Sam, a mix of pleading and deep regret apparent in his perception. Sam moved slowly, facing the quivering Novak, "Gabe, what happened?" He dropped to his knees, now eye to eye with Gabriel.

Gabe pulled back his lips, nodding as to reassure himself. He sighed and glanced at the statue before responding, "This statue has… it's always been special for… for Cas and I," he stammered a bit in the middle, breathing heavily afterwards, "Cassy… he came out to me under these wings…"

 _Cas stared up at the wall of clouds that covered the sky that day. He and Gabriel were side by side, both laying in a patch of grass. The angel statue that sat next to them was a fairly new discovery, found only about two months ago by the brothers. It was a beautiful angel, one not bound by gender or age, just there. Pure and selfless, kind and bold. It watched them lazily, staring down at their conversations, listening closely to their thoughts. Now Cas wondered if it knew what he was thinking._

" _Gabriel?" Cas pushed himself up on his elbows. Gabriel quickly did the same._

" _Yes?"_

" _I… I have something to tell you," he looked down at the blades of grass._

" _The floor is yours," Gabe joked._

 _Cas swallowed and grinned slightly, still not ready to meet his brother's eyes, "I… I'm gay," but it was muffled by his fear._

" _Say that again?" Gabe questioned, now confused and staring at his brother._

" _I'm gay. I like boys," Cas seemed angry and also very frightened. It showed in how his hands began to rip up the weeds in the ground, and his eyes became a light shade of red._

 _Gabe smiled, "Cool."_

 _Cas was baffled for a moment, almost laughing, "You- you're not mad?" He sniffled._

" _Of course not. You do you. I'm glad you feel comfortable talking about it."_

" _Y-yeah. I guess… I don't know."_

 _Gabe smiled, now turning his attention towards the angel, "It seems to be happy about it too."_

 _Castiel turned, looking up at the stone eyes of the guardian. It held that same peaceful expression, the one that bared moss and small pink flowers. It seemed to always be saying, 'I love you,' in a way only a still frame could. Cas bent his head down, "I guess so, huh?"_

Gabe smiled at the memory, "He seemed so much more free after that. It was also where we built his angel halloween costume, and where we would create stories where we were demons or lions or… or anything really. This angel has seen it all." He reached out for the statue, just barely sliding his hand over the base.

Sam nodded, his hand now resting on Gabe's back.

Gabe continued, "But when I got here yesterday morning, someone. . . someone had ruined it."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed, now following Gabriel's line of sight. At the very bottom of the statue, a pair of wings sat, and Sam recognized their design as the type Cas always drew. These wings though, were not a puffy and joyful white. They were dripping with deep red, parts scribbled over in black ink and beside it… one small phrase.

 **You're welcome, Castiel.**


	13. 13

Castiel sighed, letting his hand flow meekly across the gray sheet beneath him. The comforter that was wrapped loosely around his waist was one of the few luxuries of H.O.A.M. It did a fine job of being a blanket, velvety and flexible, but was still lacking in some areas. It didn't smell like the rounded scent of coffee and beer, tanged with a lighter breeze of cinnamon old spice. It was not steaming, fresh from the dryer, and he did not find himself curled into its aura. It worked as a blanket though.

He turned over in slight anger, disappointed in his inability to sleep tonight. He thought that maybe a visit from Dean would soothe him enough for at least a few hours, but found no such comfort tonight.

Cas sat up, pressing his bare elbows against the mattress. In the darkness the creak of the bed was louder, banging rapidly into his ears. He bit his lip now, turning his head a few times to assure nothing lurked in the dark that cascaded around him. However, the monster under the bed was nothing compared to Amara.

Cas was suddenly reminded of how she had twirled her fingers through her hair, pressing every part of herself on Dean. He was reminded of how her hands clasped on his back, her lips so hauntingly close to Dean's. Those lips were for Cas. That devilish, horrible smile that rattled through his skull, the scream the hid itself inside him until she finally broke away, but the heat of her touch still ached on Dean's chest.

Amara was here. She was as real as his fear. The fear that trembled now under his skin, that made him shake and curl, an electrified cartoon character. His hair stood up messily, his clothes sweaty, and with every breath it felt as though she was coming closer and closer, even though she probably dozed hazily a few rooms over. _How can she still sleep at night when I cannot even close my eyes?_

Dean threw the soaked towel back into the bucket, wiping the sweat from his brow. Baby was sparkling again, warm and welcoming in the late summer sun. Her black seats displayed no sign of damage or stain, and her exterior could be marveled at. In all honesty, she didn't need to be cleaned. She was fresh before his hour long work, but it was something to do on such a perpetually hot and gloomy day.

Baby held many pieces of Dean. She held legos and army men and 2 lazily carved initials that boxed and curved at the wrong parts. Her tires were her newest feature; high density rubber and traction to conquer any road . Of course, like his father, Dean would never take her to any place too daring. She was his beauty, his baby girl, and nothing would change that. She was the only familiar thing in this jumbled, depressing, and almost humorous story he felt like he was living in.

When she finally shone like the sun in the afternoon, he took her for a ride. The roads of the pine barrens curved and shifted, turning quickly and scouting out gateways between trees. Dean admired the adventure every ride through them brought, especially the long road.

The long road was a rarely used strip of straight asphalt, going for at least ten miles. At the end, one could choose left or right, right bringing one to a small set of of houses, and left a dead end blocked by yet another rusting old fence. It was a theme in these parts.

No police ever checked the long road, so Dean was free to speed at his heart's content, pushing her over a hundred most times. This time was a bit more.

One hundred and ten down this smooth and warm track, the Impala loosely clutching to the road. He kept his foot on the pedal, the brake seeming far, far away as he cruised. She roared through the dank forest, the gasoline evaporating behind her. Dean laughed wildly, and remembered.

" _Dean, you're driving too fast.," Sam exclaimed matter-of-factly, his finger pressed inside his book. Dean rode down the highway, the car beneath him at a steady 90. Sam hated ever passing sixty, and even that was a little much._

" _Oh, come on Sammy. Have some fun, feel her. She's alive. A being of true power," he pushed on the gas, laughing happily as she growled in response. Sam said nothing, just kept his lips pressed together and his book closed on his hand. He gritted his teeth as a few bumps in the road sent the car bouncing._

 _Dean looked over at Sam's silence, seeing the fear that gripped tightly to his eyes. He sighed and slowed her down, the tires easing steadily to sixty._

 _Sam finally breathed, laughing nervously over at Dean and scratching his neck, "Th-thanks Dean."_

 _Sam slept the rest of that ride, a very familiar soundtrack playing through his headphones._

At the end of the long road, Dean left the car briskly, not having a clue what he was doing here. Something just… felt right A missing puzzle piece found. In front of him, was nothing, just a cement wall. The right, again, had houses, so the left called smoothly to him, eyeing his movements.

Dean jumped the fence, his feet hitting the red pine cones. Down a small little path he realized something lay there. Not really a _thing-_ per say- more a sensation that now made him run over. It was hill that he ran down, leading to an open field that stretched not too far. It was covered in small white flowers and littered leaves and grass that matched his eyes, but it only went so far. At the very far end, another hill.

This one he walked up. He felt he needed some buildup to whatever was on the other side. Of course, it would be something spectacular; his blood was never wrong.

"Who did this?" Sam's voice dawned on angry, fear being the main factor in the weird twitch in his voice.

"Hell if I know! Someone… someone who knows Cas' wings. It has to be someone he knows." Gabe was just as confused, though his dirty face and shriveled form hinted he had been here pondering for much too much time.

His face scrunched again as he pounded the ground. Pines and branches escaped in the wind his fist made, and after his knuckle was red from the twigs.

"Was it you?" Gabe didn't falter at all this time.

"WHAT?"

"WAS IT YOU!? YOU'RE ALWAYS SO PERFECT AND THE STRONG ONE OF THE FAMILY. YOU STOLE IT FROM HIM DIDN'T YOU? HAPPINESS?"

Sam didn't know what to say, just backed away slowly, horrified at Gabe's accusation, "Gabe, he's a brother to me. I would never hurt him."

"Maybe you loved him a little too much huh? SO MUCH THAT YOU THOUGHT HE WOULD MAKE AN EXCELLENT ESCORT!?"

Sam froze. Gabe had never mentioned how Cas was trafficked. Escorting, and by the way he was spitting out such venom and Cas' refusal to ever be touched, Sam suspected more than just escorting had happened. Oh, Cas.

Sam ducked his head in regret, "Gabe…"

Gabriel didn't respond, just punched the ground and sighed, swallowing his anger. His grumble was audible, and he turned away from Sam, shaking his head in a daze, "...who?..."

In the silence, both of them stood still, remembering. They remembered how Cas used to run through the lawn, his trench coat flying above him in a display of pure truth. They remembered his dark sketches of Dean reading, or watching TV or just his hand resting on the table. Cas' music too. His heavy bass guitar where he would play ballads for the mountains at midnight. That quick, pure, moment hung on their minds. Where had that gone?

Who?

Dean gaped at the green. All of the layers and shades, dark and light twisting together in paint strokes. The hill truly did lead to something spectacular, a hidden world deep in these woods. One with a small pond and waterfall the captured the freedom the wind so happily sang. The oasis in this two- part tragedy Dean felt he was living in. Sheltered from the world, this was… home. He had used the word before. He had used it for his house and the name of Cas' hospital, but never before had the word felt so authentic on his tongue.

And then, he realized why. This was just like the home of the mustang. The stampeding hill and gushing water; white and yellow flower buds and blades of grass the surfed against the wind. Spirit's homeland. The one he promised to always return to. He sang songs about the fireflies and stars and breeze- filled nights. Right here in the lonely Pine Barrens of New Jersey.

 _Cas would love this._ And he would. He would love every breath he took here. He would love the mist from the water and the tickles of the pollen on his nose. He would love how the wind lifted his trench coat in glee and flight. He would love every second of standing on that hill. He saw it too. Cas' outline as he ran across that green. He saw his laughter and him yelling "Come on, Dean!" He heard his voice.

A spasm of heartache broke Dean from the vision, his hope twisting into deep regret. Cas couldn't see this; not yet at least. He was still stuck in that damn hospital for 2 more months. It shocked him how he still remembered Cas' voice. It was… crinkly and wise, old yet so very new and different. He spoke only when needed, so every word really did matter… a lot. Cas' smile was the one thing Dean was forgetting. The one where his thin lips would truly show and his teeth would poke out between them. The real smiles like when Dean made him tea in the morning or he finally finished that one poem he had worked so hard on and was now framed above his bed. _Castiel's poems._ The ones that shocked the reader with how they twirled in their mouths. Cas' poems were the best poems.

Dean reached into his pocket, pulling out the small teal camera he had brought with him. Something about this day had seemed special; a day that needed a camera. He turned out to be right as this landscape needed to be shared; with Cas at least. Maybe it would provoke a memory or idea or something. Something. Dean needed something. Just… one win. One win where the world would go his way for once. It didn't happen often enough.

He took a photo. The camera vibrated in his hands, now containing a piece of happiness just for him. Cas would love this so much. 4 years ago he would smile and laugh and hug Dean tightly with a " _thank you thank you thank you_ " before running upstairs and trying it on every inch of his wall until it fit. Then, at night, he would wish the photo a 'good night' and blowing it a kiss. He did that with everything he believed had a spirit to it. This photo surely seemed like it did.

As Dean walked back to the impala, he shook his head, still baffled. 2 more months and the Cas would be out. 2 more months until maybe, Cas would be speaking and hugging again. 2 more long months until Dean could hold him and kiss him with every ounce of love he had in him. 2 months though, where Cas would be miserable. The last time Cas was miserable for an extended period of time…

Dean was angered by his trail of thought, slamming the car door abruptly. No, no he couldn't think like that. He needed to be Cas' hope. He was the only thing holding them together.

Yet, no matter how much he kept trying to push it away, a new fear plagued his mind on that drive home.

 _Would Cas- could Cas- survive 2 months?_ And that was a question, Castiel would have to decide the answer to.


	14. 14

Cas eyed the painting Charlie was describing, curious as to how she knew so much about its making. She had hung it up in her room on the first day, she explained, as it was her favorite. She had bought it from an artist at a convention. It depicted a small man reaching his hand up to a ring, his eyes hating and loving the golden object. Cas realized quickly it was a Lord of the Rings painting, and he internally chuckled. Charlie and her fandoms…. Dean had never taken much of a liking to the series. Cas had watched it once or twice, although now he felt he should watch it again, for Charlie, at least.

He pointed up at it, making sure she was watching, and nodded, making numerous hand motions that simulated reading a book. It took her a moment before she understood, though she still seemed oddly satisfied that he was responding. He was trying to explain that he had only read one book but had seen all the movies.

"You read it…?"

Cas had to credit her. She really was trying to understand. She was following his fingers and his shuffling feet and how his eyes seemed to stare happily at the hobbit in the painting. While she didn't _fully_ get it, she cared. Castiel nodded at her question; _close enough._

"Well have you seen the movies!? Those are great!"

He shook his hand, making a half-and-half kind of figure. He wanted her to know that he wanted to watch them again with her. It would be fun, something to take his mind off of the daunting situation that threatened to eat him whole. He grinned, knowing Dean would laugh and call him a _nerd_ and give him a pat on the back… three years ago.

"Oh my god you haaave to see it. Friday night, my room, okay? Make sure to sleep well the night before as we'll be pulling an all-nighter."

Cas almost laughed, exhaling smoothly. The last time he stayed up all night was when he had first met Dean, as neither could sleep after watching all those horror movies. My, how he had grown in so short a time. Although… it really hadn't been that long. They'd really only known each other for 14 years, so short in the time of an entire lifespan.

14 years, he now wanted to breathe out into the hallway. 14 years held so much weight and joy. 14 years clung to the walls, grinning and frowning all at the same time. 14 short years.

" _Should I call you Cas or Castiel?" It was a question Dean had wanted to ask all night. He found the word 'Cas' slipping from his mouth many times, always trying to cover it up afterwards. It was a perfect sound that always felt sweet on his tongue._

" _Cas is fine. Would you like a nickname too?"_

 _Dean giggled, "No, thank you. Dean is good enough."_

 _After finishing 'The Changeling', Castiel and Dean had decided to be friends. Maybe they were too old for that, but many would argue they were too old to be in Halloween costumes running down the street for free candy. Neither ever really grew up, so when they sealed their friendship with a handshake, it was final. A pinky- promise of sorts. A beautiful time indeed._

 _While neither cared to admit they were terrified, they came to the consensus that there would be no sleep. An all- nighter._

 _At one A.M., they had drank so much Coke and iced tea that the house radiated with their energy. Watching another show required too little movement, and they were both generally bored with the idea. Something exciting needed to happen._

" _Have you ever played imagination games, Dean?" Cas asked as they both sat on the couch, pondering what they should do for the rest of the night. It was the perfect hour for both their minds. Everything was spinning._

" _What are those?"_

" _Oh, well," Cas leaned on his shoulders, "they're games that you… play in your imagination. Like you could be a dog or an alien and you just kind of make up the story as you go." The topic was one that brought a spark to the boy's eyes._

" _Like the ones kids play? With nerf guns and stuff?"_

 _Cas looked down at the mention of it being a kids thing to do, "Yeah… kind of like that."_

 _Dean shook his head, ecstatic and feeling very silly at that moment, "We're 17 years old and about to play knights and princesses. Oh my god…" But it wasn't a joking statement; it was pure excitement. He and this other complete geek were about to play an imagination game. The geek was also pretty cute, dark hair and had these small fuzzy wings on his back. His face was round and young, his eyes very wide. It was a curious thing to look at, how his mouth curved slightly upwards when he spoke, like he could never really erase a grin from his face. Of course, Dean had no idea if he was gay, as many people weren't, and with a face like his he probably had a beautiful girlfriend. He couldn't get his hopes up._

" _So is that a yes?" Cas, obviously, was oblivious to this small worm of feeling that twisted inside Dean, and was awaiting a response._

" _Let's do it."_

* * *

"Keep going," Sam told him, seeing how Gabe's eyes lit up when he spoke. "What happened?"

Gabe sighed, following Sam's request soon after. "I… I gave him a hug- a bro hug. You and Dean must have those, right?"

Sam's mouth curled up a bit. "Yes."

Gabe shook his head in confirmation. "Well, hugs were always Cas' favorite. He would always say that the love of his life would know that a hug was worth one thousand kisses." Gabriel silently laughed. "That sap."

'You know," Sam responded, approaching Gabriel and leaning on his shoulder, the grass cool on his ankle. "The more I hear about Cas, the more I realize why Dean loves him so much. Dean is a complete sap too, he just doesn't like to show it."

"Yeah… Cas is like a proud lovestruck teen. He used to be, anyway. Yet, the more time he spent with Dean, I could see them settling down. They weren't excited when they were together anymore, just...comfortable. That's something solid."

Sam sniffed, his heart still heavy from the memories. The angel statue still stared wordlessly at them, its wings frayed in some places, yet it still looked like it was about to take off. It watched their silence for a good long while, listening to their uneven breaths that were carried through the wind. A guardian to their love.

As time moved around the boys, they stayed almost still. The sun peaked over them and lowered, the grass curled by the millimeter under their feet, the clouds came and went, entranced to only go one way. And yet, the boys became- for a time- ageless. Spectators at the center of their lives. Neither cared to say it, but they both knew… this was a moment they would not get back.

Sam and Gabe turned to each other at the same time, each holding a small smile on their face.

"Ready to go home?" Sam asked, a whisper that soon became the breeze.

Gabe swallowed, nodding. He glanced at the statue again, who seemed to confirm that it was time. The trees said the same, waving them towards their house. "Yeah," Gabe could finally answer, following Sam through the archway of pines.

They would find out what happened to Cas- _who_ happened to Cas- and solve it. For now though, both brothers were content with the time they had had. Sam driving at fifty on the roads that were never crossed, and Gabe asleep beside him, his gold hair falling over his face, and the wind sparking a happiness he hadn't been able to find.

And the statue behind them did not turn to watch them. The inked wings sat waiting to be saved, the eyes in the trees grinning in the silence


	15. 15

"Dean, I want you to show that picture to Cas." It had taken Sam some time to contemplate the time he and Gabe had shared, a thought that ebbed across his consciousness. It never felt awkward, just… calming. Like Gabe had said, not exciting or exhilarating, just friendly and full. Gabe was a person that one needed to contemplate before making a decision about. Sam still didn't know exactly who he saw Gabe as, and at times it felt like he never would.

However, he had had the idea that maybe the picture he had snapped of the angel would bring some light to Cas. If Cas had come out under that statue, it must be of some significance to the man.

"Really?" The word was tinged on the edges with loss of hope.

"Yeah. Apparently, it's really important to him. Gabe and I can't be there this week because this place needs a deep clean, but you gotta give it to him."

Sam heard a quick sigh from the other end of the phone. The loud sound of shower water hitting the drain soon erupted through the speaker, "Ok. I have a picture for him too, so that'll work."

"Good. Bye, Dean."

"Bye, Sam."

 _Too monotone,_ Sam worried, _too dead._ So structured he thought he might burst into some melancholy song about his brother next, with dimmed lights in his eyes. And yet Dean clicked off without a thought, his eyes glazed and feet heavy. He was so close to giving up, and welcomed this script of how life should go. _Too alive,_ Dean worried, _too full._

They say the strongest sense is the smell. One that rushes up to your brain in a flurry of memories, and many agree with that statement. Think about it. That one smell that sends you back to that friday in sixth grade, or the meal your grandma would make whenever you went over. The sense of smell is a very powerful weapon.

Cas smelled something. It came from a crack in the window of the community room. Cold, a bit too cold for his liking, but crisp enough that it blocked out the heavy air around him. The warmth caused by rushing, crazy bodies. Sweat pouring from them at times. This air was different. It smelled of the scarlet oaks and the sweet red and white cedars, of the Virginia willows and black chokeberries he remembered would brush his leg every so often on hikes. He could imagine them all, orange against the blue of the sky. A burning red consuming leaves, leaving nothing but branches.

So, he sat by the window and breathed it in. His hair did not blow in the breeze, and he found his body soon curled , like a fetus soon to be birthed by this air. He wrapped his trenchcoat around his body more, his head tilted toward the window, and sighed. This was good. The sweet bay mongolia and the pitch pine agreed.

After some time, time that felt both drawn out and fast, too quick to grasp but too slow to follow, she was there.

This morning, Amara's hair was messier than usual, yet still held that charm she always carried. A charm that took advantage of him and twisted his emotions in ways he would never understand. And, here she was again, taking his happiness and grinding it to infected pulp.

 _What do you want?_ Cas glared, and hoped she understood him.

"Castiel, I want to talk to you." It was so innocent how she said it. Like a little girl asking for a new set of red legos. Yet, he tugged on the cusp of his sleeve in wait.

"I want to… apologize. Tell you why, maybe." She forced out a smile, stitched with black thread like her shirt.

Cas could almost feel the flames erupting from his ears. Explain? _Explain?_ What was there to explain. There's no reason anyone human would do what she did.

The shake started in his fingertip, barely noticeable to the untrained eye. Then it spread, up his hand and wrist, flowing to his shoulder blade and back. To the brain and the heart, everywhere. Everywhere a steady pluck of forgotten heartache. Cas just closed his eyes, the tears flowing freely, scrunched in the wrinkles of his aching face. The Redwood that blazed through his nose was nothing now, just a reminder of what never could be again.

"You'll have to face the truth, Castiel. Just listen to me. It was for your own good," She was so damn toxic, Cas couldn't help but scream. And scream. And lift his fist and smash her nose to bits as the convulsions didn't stop. An array of anger and utter fear, until white- sleeved arms grabbed him, pulling him away from his enemy. The kicks did not subside, until a forced sleep took them with it.

….

Cas had been moved to the B-wing, Dean soon found out. The phone call had been curt, but Dean was getting tired of hearing the receptionist's voice anyway. The B-wing was for the violent ones. Those who were a danger to themselves or others. Four cinder block walls with some bars for windows, that was Cas' new home.

This would not have been so terrible. It was for everyone's safety. And yet, that meant no visitors for at least three weeks. That was the minimum until they could do a stability test. Alone in solitary for three weeks. The walls surrounding a confused and scared little feather. Dean hated the thought.

Castiel had punched Amara. She seemed to stir something up inside of him. Like a match that could quickly burst him into flame. He had seen the mixture of fear and hatred in his eyes when she had pressed up against Dean. A teenage- like angst that bubbled in her presence. Something had gone on between the two, and Dean suspected it was going to be a pretty detailed puzzle, especially since they were family.

Luckily, they allowed the B-wing patients to receive letters. No phone calls yet, but letters. Dean knew Cas would want scrapbook letters. Ones with little stamps and stickers of puppies and birds. Pencil marks and coffee stains and random strips of tape. Cas would press it to his nose and sniff it, guessing how old the coffee was and if Dean had had sugar in it or not. He almost never guessed right, but that never dulled his game.

Dean had just one simple dilemma; he had no idea what to write about. Nothing was really…. happening. The house was quiet, only the occasional stir of old floorboards in the deep night. The brewery was the same, crowded at night and light in the mornings. There were no stories to tell to Cas. No adventures filled with epic tales. He was no mustang galloping across open green fields, racing the eagles that flew so eagerly above him. He was simply Dean Winchester. A man whose best friend shook in the presence of others, and screamed when his hand brushed skin. And yet, he was also a man who loved that friend, and would sing to his quaking heart until he sang back.

But that was not enough. While Cas would enjoy a poem about how distinct the creak of the steps was, Dean felt that was… too little. Not enough. It would degrade him over time. Even now, his nightmares showed Cas banging on the stone walls, drops of blood pouring from his knuckles. He had to do more.

Dean looked beside him, the sun finally sinking over the horizon. The only remnant was a thin line of light that showed itself over the horizon. His eyes continued down. He looked at the carpet and noted it needed to be cleaned; then to his lamp, which was probably very hot now; then to the nightstand. And on that nightstand, the mustang. The mustang on the bright green hill speckled with wild flowers. He remembered the picture of the small hill in the heart of the pine barrens, so masterfully gorgeous in its being. He could surely send that to Cas.

But that was not enough. He needed more. More adventure and stories and pictures and songs. The pine barrens couldn't be the only place to hold such beauty.

Then he remembered: the map. The map Cas had drawn on in red sharpie, marking destinations he wished he could see, finally falling in the homeland of the horse. The places where Dean could imagine Cas dropping his trenchcoat on the grass and running freely until he collapsed with a laugh onto the ground. And even then he would just watch the clouds roll by, knowing that the light fire that burned inside him was true happiness.

Dean suddenly knew exactly what needed to be done. For both of them to last these three weeks, he would follow the map, exactly as Cas had imagined. He would take pictures and voice recordings so vivid and so often, Cas would feel like he was there. And finally, at the home of the mustang….

He did not know what would happen there. Maybe something spectacular; maybe nothing at all. Nevertheless, he needed to get there, soon, and find out exactly what would happen. He had three weeks until he could see Cas, and those weeks would be filled with all the photos and sound tapes he could stuff into little white envelopes. This would keep both of them sane… hopefully.

He looked to the foot of the bed, where both of their packed suitcases for the road trip still sat. They beckoned him to pick them up, throw them in the back of the Impala, and drive at ninety until Cas would kiss him again.

But it was late, and the sun was long out of sight. Tomorrow, he would drive. He would blast his favorite classic rock until the squirrels sang with him, and when the black hills were in sight, he would remember. Remember Cas. Remember the undying love he had for his dark-haired husband. But most importantly, he would remember to smile. That's what would keep him alive.


	16. 16

The black hills of western South Dakota were smaller than Dean would have imagined. After looking at map after map, he found that they stood fairly isolated from the rest of the state; a dome of awe-inspiring waterfalls and free range buffalo whose breath turned to ghosts in winter. The hills themselves stood at a dark gray, tinted with moonshine at night. The most astounding part was the grass, bright and vibrant like a Friday afternoon laced with the smell of early summer. The tips turned to light beige on most blades, creating a color palette as soft as the mustang's mane. From the first picture, Dean was in love.

Twenty-six hours was nothing on the Impala. She had gone across the country so many times that her tire tracks guided the way of lost travelers, and her engine found everyone's home. Dean would be far away, very far away from Cas. Yet, he couldn't be much farther than he already was. The disconnect he felt from his husband was an itch that could not be scratched away, and at some point it would ravage their relationship into oblivion. He could only push and will it away for so long. At some point, he would break.

Twenty-six hours, while long, was not three weeks. Other destinations would have to be hit on the way in order to fully last for those twenty-one days. He decided to dedicate this trip mostly to nature, visiting parks and fields and trees that stood gallantly above the world. Cas would enjoy it much more, as it would feel like more of an escape than just more stone and metal buildings. He studied the roads Cas had traced, searching for any pattern that he might have hidden in the vibrant red. However, nothing really stuck out. Maybe it was just random. No meaning or significance, just a short little trip; there and back again.

The walls were rigid, cold stones tracing dust on to Cas' fingers. He had first touched the walls just minutes after they had left him alone, and now it was all he really had done. Just… touch. His eyes had nothing to look at, a light that flickered above him and the metal bed frame with a thin mattress. The only hint that the outside still existed was a tiny window above him, one with bars that fit its size. He had heard rumours that pieces of this hospital were once part of a prison, and slowly he was starting to believe them. As he had done before, he cuddled beneath the window, but the scent of the pines was masked by the emissions of cars. Briefly, he would smell their tang, and those moments felt infinite in the bare walls. He pulled his coat around him, waiting for more of those moments to come.

Footsteps came not long after, one of the doctors, though not one he had met before. The doctor wore a cheap, but fine suit, and in his hand held an envelope. From what Cas could see, the envelope was tinted the same color as Dean's map paper, and he quickly jumped up to recover it. The doctor smiled slightly at him, "This is from your partner. I need you to open it in front of me to make sure there's nothing dangerous in there."

Cas took the envelope, realizing that it was the hand-folded map paper. Dean had made the envelope for him, and the kingdoms of Middle Earth now creased in his dry hands. He took a deep breath in excitement, and made sure to not rip any piece of the map. Inside, he found a folded up loose-leaf paper, and two small photos. Before he had a chance to see them, the doctor took the envelope and shuffled inside. When he was satisfied with the contents, he handed the envelope back, said his goodbyes, and left him alone again.

Cas sat down on his bed, hating the horrible noise it made when he did so. He reached his hand inside, first grabbing the loose-leaf. All three holes on the side were ripped, as if Dean had very quickly grabbed it and wrote. The messiness of the handwriting said the same. He smoothed it against his thigh and silently read.

 _Hello Castiel,_

 _I have decided I will finish our road trip. I found something beautiful the other day, and I realize i'm hurting myself by just waiting for you. I'm going to send you pictures, and a blank notebook. I want it to feel like you're there, okay? It won't be the same,I know, but when you come back home, I'd be happy to do it again. I promise I won't read without you. If they let me, maybe I'll send some voice recordings of me reading, ok?_

 _Love you,_

 _Dean._

Cas' face hurt from smiling when he was finished reading. His teeth stuck out from between his lips, and he could feel his eyes watering a bit. He was so glad that Dean would leave the house, as he had feared Dean would spend these weeks doing nothing but driving back and forth from the brewery.

After a few deep breaths to reign in his emotions, Cas poked his fingers in to the the envelope and pulled out one of the pictures. It was a picture of the two of them at the opening of the brewery. Dean was smiling at him as a small group of eager new customers walked in to those doors for the first time. It felt like ages ago, but some things made the picture a bit more immortal. Cas, of course, still had his trenchcoat on, but it was much cleaner back then. Baby was in the background, her old tires worn from her years on the road. Dean had the same leather jacket, and Cas the same blue tie. Yet, back then, both their smiles were wider. They were real; dimples and bright eyes and silent laughter. Nothing there seemed wrong; perfect. Perfect. They were perfect. _So,_ Cas couldn't help but shake his head, _what had changed?_

Of course, he knew. He knew how her hair fell on her slim shoulders and exactly how many black dresses she owned. He knew which room she was in and her schedule for every single day of the week. He knew what had changed, but Dean didn't. Dean would never suspect it, just like Cas hadn't. Never in a milenia would he have guessed; but here he was, a survivor of human trafficking at the hands of his aunt, in a dark hospital room, crying over a picture. So much had changed.

The second picture took him a bit longer. It was wedged into the folds of the envelope, as if the journey of prying it out was part of its mystery. Cas slowly opened the small photo, and was hit with a brilliance of green. Grasses and shrubs all dotted the dusty ground of swirling hills, creating a scene straight from his poems. It was spectacular in all ways, from the worn benches atop the hills for weary finders to sit, to the occasional blueberry bush to break ones tumble down the slope. However, the red-barked trees reminded him… this was home. This was not an unreachable place. It was right in the pines with the angel statue, still smiling.

It took him some time, but he realized that Dean's trip had already begun. Right on that slope, the first in a sequence to come. It was enticing, and Cas could only imagine how many smiles would force their way onto his lips. He took both pictures and the letter and slipped them under his thin pillow, hoping that they would give him the best of dreams.

That night, Cas' dinner was brighter than normal. The nurse who had handed it to him had even commented on his smile, which didn't leave for hours after the envelope had been open. Every time it began to fade, he would think of the green, or the brewery, and it would jump right back on to his shadowed face. The old cornbread tasted extra sweet, and the water was just a bit more refreshing.

And as Cas laid down on his bed, eyes looking up at the dirty ceiling, he was still smiling. The black hills of North Dakota. The black hills of North Dakota. The home of the mustang he had come to love. Finally, there was hope.

The cleaning of their apartment had been cut short. Sam and Gabriel, both sitting on the dirty carpet, found many things that had sat there for months collecting dust, had more value than they realized. Each bin had some toy or picture or controller that just "means so much. We can't get rid of it!" So, here they were. Their 'keep' pile was much larger than Sam would have liked, and the only thing they had done was made more of a mess. However, Gabe had found remote-control helicopter.

It was a small thing, white with splatters of blue and red. It held a small bucket that the Novak's had put there to pass notes back and forth. It only lasted a few minutes when fully charged, but Gabe used every second of that time. He crashed many times at the beginning, but he blamed it on how old the controller was and "it must have a lot of dust in it." Eventually though, he did find his way, and soon the little plastic helicopter was spinning around Sam's head, who was not very fond of what was happening. Gabe, in proper Gabe fashion, laughed and did it some more, tripping over the clutter spread out onto the floor, but always gaining his feet just in time.

Sam put up with it for a few minutes, before his phone buzzed twice in his pocket. He took it out and flipped it open. It was a message from Dean, though the photo took some time to load on the flip-phone. When it did, Sam saw a picture of Dean's legs in sweatpants on a hotel bed, some form of crime show on the television in front of him. Soon after, another text from Dean, _So it begins._

Sam heard a crash, and looked up from his phone to see the helicopter- yet again- on the floor. Gabe picked it up, but with it, a small slip of paper, "Oh. This must be one of our old notes."

Gabe grinned as he opened the paper, but his face soon turned to confusion. Sam could see his eyes darting over the paper, trying to process whatever wa son there.

"What does it say?" Sam pried, concerned after a couple seconds of Dead silence.

"I…" Gabe was still shocked, but Sam went over to look. It was a child's drawing with only black and yellow crayons. The black made the form of a person in what seemed like a black dress. However, her whole form was black, so it was difficult to tell. In the yellow, another person, this one with very long arms, frowning. Sam furrowed his brow, but thought little of the image.

"Whenever Cas drew himself, he would always give himself super long arms. It was to make sure we knew it was him in the picture." That didn't explain the woman in the black dress, who was much taller than Cas in the picture. She stared down at him, disgruntled, with one long finger pointing.

Suddenly, Gabe folded up the paper. He walked over to one of the bins, dumped all the contents on to the floor, and placed the paper at the bottom, "Our evidence bin. Everything we learn about what happened to my brother goes in here. Anything at all. …..We're figuring this out."

He paused in the middle, and his voice just so slightly cracked.

Without another word, he turned off the helicopter, threw it into the 'keep' pile, and carried on without a word.


End file.
